


burned, about to burn, or still on fire

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Dragons, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Multi, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex, drugs, rock & roll, psychic abilities, and a few shapeshifting dragons. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Or: Gabe is a dragon, Pete is his treasure, and Mikey is a pyrokinetic who lights his fire. From New Jersey pop-punk to rehab and starting over, they orbit each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	burned, about to burn, or still on fire

Int: You’ve got quite a mix of powers in this band, is that right?  
GW: I guess so. I mean, I’m an energy sink, so…  
FI: He sucks the top off of all of us.  
Int: Whoa, I’m not sure we can print that.  
[general laughter]  
FI: I’m mild telekinesis. Very mild. I can, like, move papers, that’s about it.  
RT: Mild telepathic projection.  
MP: I’m just a null. Sorry!  
Int: And Mikey, you’re pyrokinetic, is that correct? That’s rare.  
GW: Yeah, he’s a firestarter.  
Int: And a late bloomer, right?  
MW: I manifested when I was eighteen, yeah.  
Int: Usually that’s a pretty intense manifestation, pyrokinesis.  
MW: I was at a party. Everyone thought it was my party trick.

\- Alt Press, “It Came From New Jersey: My Chemical Romance,” 2003

**

_2001_

It was a really cool party trick, if he’d been doing it on purpose. Sparks leaping from his fingers to nearby objects, little flickers of flame rushing over his skin and vanishing up his sleeves. He could set shots afire by pointing at them. The rest of the party was really into it.

But he wasn’t doing it on purpose, and that was fucking weird.

Mikey retreated to the bathroom, staring at his hands. He would think he was tripping or losing his mind except he hadn’t taken anything tonight and all the other people at the party had seen the flames, too. Was it a hallucination if everybody else saw it and cheered for your newfound ability to ignite the 151? Probably not.

He was actually on fire. And it didn’t hurt. Which meant he was manifesting, years late. And apparently he was a firestarter, which was freaky and weird and, like. Dangerous. And he had no idea what to do.

He wanted a drink.

Someone banged on the door and told him to get the fuck out of the bathroom. He washed his hands (they _sizzled_ ) and went back to the party, trying to remember the advice people always gave for controlling powers. _Visualize something to divert or halt the effect._ So a telepath pictured a wall around their head, an empath wrapped themselves in blankets, an energy sink closed and locked a door.

So maybe he could, what, envision himself soaked with water? Living in a bucket of asbestos? That wasn’t going to work.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture the flames being sucked back into his skin. _Stay inside_ , he thought at himself. _Just… stay inside where you can’t hurt anybody._

His skin tingled, almost to the point of pain, but when he opened his eyes the flames weren’t visible anymore. He exhaled slowly and turned toward the kitchen. He _definitely_ needed a drink, or three, to calm him down enough to figure out how he was going to tell anybody about this.

A van pulled up outside, and he watched through the kitchen window while Geoff and the Thursday guys and the Midtown guys all fell out of it. They’d had a show tonight, somewhere on the shore. Now they were here to party.

Gabe Saporta came through the front door and threw his arms wide, yelling, “Hey, what’s up?” to everyone in general. Mikey was going to wave and call back like everyone else, he really was, but his whole brain whited out and he set the kitchen table on fire.

He came back to himself when he got slammed against the wall with some guy screaming in his face, asking him if he was all right.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to push him back. “What happened?”

“The table caught on fire. You had your hand right in the middle of it.”

Mikey looked down at his hand, but there wasn’t a mark. The skin wasn’t even red. “I’m fine.”

“How are you fine? What the fuck, dude?”

Mikey was about to say something, make something up, change the subject, but suddenly Gabe was there, standing right in front of him and staring at him like… like…

Mikey was pretty sure he had never had anyone look at him like that before.

“Get lost,” Gabe said. “Mikey Way and I need to talk.”

Mikey shoved his hand into his pocket, pinching his thigh through the fabric. Why did Gabe from Midtown want to talk to him? Why was Gabe from Midtown staring at him like that? Why had looking at Gabe from Midtown made Mikey set a table on fire, and why could he feel the flames building up under his skin again, itching to get out?

“We need to talk alone,” Gabe said. “Let’s go upstairs. Come on.”

He grabbed Mikey’s hand and dragged him toward the stairs, and for a minute Mikey was afraid the fire was going to get loose. It wouldn’t hurt _him_ , apparently, but the last thing he wanted to do was burn Gabe, who sort of needed his hands for--

Gabe shoved up him against the wall along the stairwell. Mikey’s shoulders were starting to hurt from all the forcible contact with walls tonight.

“Fuck,” Gabe breathed, and then he had Mikey’s face cupped in his hands and was kissing him as hard as he could.

Mikey couldn’t tell if the fire was escaping or not, but Gabe wasn’t screaming, so it must have been okay. Gabe _was_ hard against his thigh, and grinding up on him, and Mikey didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on here, but he was ready to give up and enjoy it.

**

Gabe was breaking all kinds of rules.

When something weird happened, something that was obviously _instinct_ and not thought, he was supposed to call his dad and ask about it. He was supposed to go home if his dad said to, so he could process a new instinctive response in a safe environment. He was, at the very least, not supposed to have left his brother back at the shore with some girls while he went off to party with his band.

But here he was, having instincts all over Mikey Way in a stairwell. His instincts really liked Mikey a lot.

He’d seen Mikey around before, at shows and stuff. He’d even talked to him a few times. What had changed tonight to send him flying at Mikey like the guy was a magnet? Whatever it was, he would have to worry about it later. Right now he just needed… he needed. Mikey. Under him, against him, all over him. He wanted Mikey to _surround_ him somehow, if he could.

He boosted Mikey up higher against the wall, kissing him harder, catching lips between teeth until hot blood mingled between their mouths. Mikey giggled, a breathless sound. “Fuck, Saporta. What are you…”

“I need you.” Gabe moved his mouth from Mikey’s lips to his neck, smearing red over pale skin and the collar of his t-shirt. “Please.”

“What do you want? Please what?” Mikey’s hands groped at Gabe’s ribs and his back, searching restlessly for something. Gabe didn’t know what it was, or if he had it, but if Mikey pushed him away, something would break. He could feel it.

“I need…” Gabe rolled his hips, thrusting against Mikey’s thigh. Mikey was half-hard, and his fingers dug into Gabe’s sides when he felt the curve of his dick. Something jumped between them, a current, a spark; something raw and elemental and wrapped in a rush of heat.

Mikey let his head fall back against the wall with a thump. “You got a condom? Or… or anything?”

“I can get one.” If he could make himself let go of Mikey. The idea of doing that was scary--no. It made him _angry_ , even thinking about it. Letting Mikey go was so wrong it pissed him off.

This definitely was something he should’ve asked his dad about. Too late now.

Mikey turned his head to the side, looking down the hall. The angle bared the side of his neck, the streak of blood down pale skin. “That’s Jake’s room. It’ll have stuff. C’mon.”

Gabe kissed him again, just below the ear, letting his teeth scrape against the skin. Mikey made a low noise, fingers catching at Gabe’s side again. “Jesus, Saporta. I didn’t even know you were into guys.”

“I’ve been with a couple.” Making out and handjobs, but he could figure this out. He just needed to be close to Mikey, as close as he could. That was the most important thing in the world. “And I’m into _you_. I’m into you a lot.”

“I can tell.” Mikey shook his head, giggling again. “You gotta let me down.”

Gabe stepped back, keeping one hand in contact with Mikey as he found his feet and led the way down the hall. Mikey swayed a little as he went, and Gabe could swear he saw a shimmer of light run down his arms to his fingertips and fade away into the darkness.

Weird, but he wasn’t going to worry about it. Just like everything else tonight. He needed to get his body against Mikey’s, skin to skin, right _now_.

Jake’s room was indeed fully stocked, with a box of condoms on the bedside table like he’d planned for his guests to be using his bed by the hour. That was fucking gross. Gabe would never let people use his bed that way if he hosted house parties. Which he didn’t, because he was an immigrant kid and he respected his father’s fucking sacrifices in life.

Mikey picked up the box and squinted at it for a moment, then nodded, broke a condom packet off the strip, and tossed it to Gabe. “These are already lubricated. We are good to go.”

Gabe held the packet in his teeth and tugged off his shirt. “Get naked. I need to feel you.”

Mikey giggled and started taking off his jeans, exposing pale, skinny legs and Superman boxers. Gabe wanted to rip them off him, shred the fabric between his fingernails, tear it with his teeth. He needed to get control of himself or he was going to fuck something up more than he could repair.

The boxers landed on the floor, followed by Mikey’s t-shirt. He arranged himself on the bed on his hands and knees, pushing his skinny ass up in the air. So much chalk-pale skin. Anything Gabe did at all was going to leave a mark.

“I don’t mind it a little rough,” Mikey said, looking back at him. He still had his glasses on, but they’d slid down his nose and were balanced precariously. “But don’t be a jerk about it, okay? Don’t make it hurt just for the fun of it.”

“I won’t.” Gabe didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to _feel_ him, he wanted to _claim_ him, but hurting him didn’t even make any sense. He wanted to stay skin to skin with Mikey forever. Hurting him might make that stop. No way.

He got the rest of his clothes off and the condom on and moved into position, rubbing his thumb over Mikey’s opening and then inside a little. When he pressed, Mikey pushed back against him, making a low, rough little noise. 

Gabe pulled his hand away and guided his dick into place, pushing in as slowly as he could bear, stopping and waiting for Mikey to make that sound again before he went further. It felt like heat was racing over every inch of his body, like he was crawling through molten lava, like he was falling into a star.

This couldn’t just be sex.

But he didn’t really care, right now. He finally got himself buried as deep in Mikey as he could go, his chest pressed to Mikey’s back, and his whole mind was full of sound and light.

“Fuck you,” Mikey gasped. “Fucking fuck me, what are you waiting for?”

Gabe bit down on Mikey’s shoulder, tasting salty skin and the promise of blood. This definitely wasn’t just sex. Something else was going on here, something deeper and distant. All that mattered was that it was the best thing he had felt in his entire life. Thrusting into Mikey, touching Mikey, tasting Mikey. This was the reason for everything.

And if it wasn’t, then whatever else there was could just fucking wait.

**

Int: So you made quite a stir with your blog on MySpace last night.  
Gabe Saporta: Yeah, I guess so. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, you know, just… just some honesty. Being real about who I am.  
Int: And what you are.  
GS: Yeah. I guess.  
Int: You’re nonhuman.  
GS: That’s correct.  
Int: A dragon, to be exact.  
GS: Yeah. Like I said in the blog post.  
Int: Most nonhumans, and especially dragons, from what I know, place a high value on keeping their identities secret.  
GS: Well, I’m tired of keeping secrets.  
Int: Are you hoping to use this for publicity for Midtown?  
GS: I’m not sure how being honest about myself is using anything for publicity.  
Int: Are you afraid of any sort of backlash? Anti-nonhuman sentiment?  
GS: We’re all children of the universe, man. These differences are all in our heads.

\-- Kerrang!, “Spotlight: Gabe Saporta Comes Out As Nonhuman,” 2003

**

Going home was a physical relief. Mikey had always known in a vague sort of way that the house was shielded, but since he hadn’t manifested he didn’t feel it. Now, when the door closed behind him there was a corresponding click in his head. The energy stopped crawling under his skin and didn’t come back when he let himself relax. The buzzing in his head stopped. He might never go outside again. 

He went downstairs to the basement, making his way to Gerard like a guided missile. Gerard was sitting on his bed with a book and a bag of Cheetos, about as perfect a situation as Mikey could think of right now. He crawled in beside his brother and rested his head on Gerard’s thigh.

“Hey.” Gerard patted him on the head. “Where’d you end up last night?”

“Party.” Mikey rubbed his cheek against him and closed his eyes. “It was weird.”

“Hmm.” Gerard turned a page and Mikey felt Cheetos dust land on his forehead. “Weird how?”

“Had sex with Saporta.” Mikey worried his lower lip between his teeth. “Manifested.”

“Which Saporta?”

“Gabe.” Mikey looked up at him again. “Gee. I manifested.”

Gerard closed the book around his finger and looked down at him. “For real?”

“Really for real. I set a table on fire.”

“On purpose?”

“No.” Mikey turned onto his back so he could see Gerard’s face better. “I’m a pyrokinetic, man. I never even thought of that.”

“Pyrokinetic. Shit.” Gerard let the book fall to the bed, losing his place. “I don’t think we’ve ever had one in the family.”

“I’ve got no fucking idea what to do.”

“Trust your instincts, I think?” Gerard reached for the pack of cigarettes on his bedside table. “And we’ll get you a book or find a website or something. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out. It’s just, you know. I thought I was a null.”

“Nothing wrong with being a null,” Gerard mumbled, placing the cigarette between his lips. “Can you light this for me?”

Mikey reached up, touching his fingertips to the cigarette and concentrating. It was different, trying to do it on purpose, especially knowing that if it went up like the table had, he would burn Gerard’s face off. But it also felt… heavy, somehow, and _slow_. “It’s not working right? I mean, it’s not like it was last night, at all.”

“Oh! Oh.” Gerard grinned, baring his teeth around the cigarette. “‘s cause I’m not shielded. Hold on.” His eyes unfocused a little and suddenly heat and energy raced through Mikey’s body again, buzzing in his head so loudly he expected his teeth to rattle.

He jerked his hand away from Gerard before fire flew from his fingers. “Shit.” Scorch marks licked the wall all the way up to the ceiling. “Oh, shit.”

“Jesus." Gerard scrambled back across the bed, clutching protectively at his cigarette. “You’ve gotta work on control.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you!” He visualized pushing the energy back inside himself, locking it away under his skin again. It was fighting him now, wanting to be free. “Can you… stop shielding? Help me out?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Gerard lit the cigarette himself, his hand shaking a little, and this time Mikey felt it when his power drained away, running in a neat stream from him to his brother. Relief and envy ran through him together, all twisted up. The up and down of always being able to rely on Gerard.

“So it’s not the house shields that make it better here,” he said after a minute, when he trusted himself to unclench his fists.

“Nah, they’re just to keep telepaths out and keep me from accidentally draining anybody in my sleep before I learned to shield.” Gerard blew smoke out slowly between his teeth and passed the cigarette to Mikey. “Don’t think they’d do anything for a pyro.”

Mikey took a drag and leaned back against the footboard. “I know less than nothing, dude. I’m going to kill us all in my sleep.”

“No, no. Look.” Gerard grabbed his laptop and started typing. “I’ll look it up, okay? Wikipedia on pyrokinesis. We’ll look up the basics and find you a goddamn book.”  
“Alright, alright.” Mikey pressed his hands over his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before he spoke. “Does it say anything about a particular power or something that would be, like, into a pyro? Drawn to one?”

Gerard took the cigarette out of his hand. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Mm.” He was quiet for a moment. “Not a power. But dragons are into pyros, it says. Like, crazy into ‘em..”

“Dragons?

“Mm-hm. Says pyros are like catnip for ‘em.”

Mikey swallowed slowly and slipped one hand up under his shirt, tracing the scratch marks on his sides, curling around to the back. “Huh.”

**

Gabe woke up and the frantic, needy feeling of the night before was gone. He lay in bed for a while, trying to remember the details of the night before, but the memories were already muted and distant. Maybe he’d been imagining things. Maybe he’d been exposed to something at the show, or on the drive back to the party. The weirdness probably had nothing to do with anything he could put a name to, so there wasn’t any point in taking it to his dad. 

Shit. He rolled onto his side and looked at the clock. His dad would expect him to be up, dressed for shul, and caffeinated in the next ten minutes. He was not likely to make it.

Saturday mornings were Gabe’s sworn enemy; getting up early after probably having a show the night before, going to shul with his dad and his brother, no complaining or detouring for food or coffee if he didn’t bring some from home. The only reason to put up with it was what came after: driving out to one of the parklands a Wing held in trust, and then flying as a family.

He would put up with a lot for flying. It was something he and Ricky agreed on, in fact: flying together was worth coming home after a Friday night show, no matter where it was. Missing a flight threw him off for the whole week after until he could get in the sky again.

He wondered, sometimes, what he was going to do when Midtown broke out of Jersey; flying solo while on tour would be dangerous, and he couldn’t imagine taking to the air alone anyway. He’d always had family around him, letting him draft behind them when he was little and giving him something to gauge and push himself against now. Who could fly higher, dive more daringly, who could catch the other from a grounded start or just playing tag across the sky; he wasn’t sure what flying would be like without that.

And the longer he lay here thinking about it, the more the whole day was going to get thrown off before it even started.

He rolled out of the bed to his feet and grabbed clothes off the floor, the chair by the desk, the bookshelf. Getting dressed and making himself presentable took place in the bathroom, squinting at himself in the mirror and listening to Ricky and their dad move around downstairs, talking quietly to each other. Gabe was definitely the slow wheel holding up the morning. Nothing new there.

“Gabriel,” his father called up the stairs. “Two minutes. Are you coming?”

“Yes.” He dragged a hand through his hair, made a face at the resulting puff of rebellious curls, and turned away from the mirror. “On my way.”

He ignored most of the service, angling himself in his seat so he could see the sky through the window. The only part he gave his attention to was when the rabbi signaled out each of the young people of the community who had manifested their powers recently. Gabe was fascinated by human powers, and by all the importance placed on manifestation. He and Ricky had taken plenty of shit over the years, condescension about how they hadn’t manifested _yet_ , or how there was no shame in being a _null_ , as if that had anything to do with anything. Gabe used to spend every one of those encounters an inch from shouting that _they_ had been wholly themselves from the day they were born, that they didn’t have to manifest anything belatedly, and that what they had was a million times better than some stupid mental energy anyway.

It was easier to behave himself now, which probably made life easier for his dad. The Saporta family lived by the old rules, even this far away from their Wing, and the first rule was to go silent and unknown among the humans. 

The second rule was not to eat them. Unfortunately.

The community clapped for the blushing, awkward teenagers, the rabbi moved on, and Gabe went back to watching the sky out the window and counting down til he could fly.

**

It was a couple of months before Mikey felt secure enough in his control to go to a show again. Pyrokinetics didn’t shield, they re-absorbed the energy into themselves. He’d figured out the basics of that the first night, but learning to do it properly and consciously instead of grasping on instinct was hard. And boring. And made his head hurt and his skin itch, _everywhere_.

It was a lot easier to stick close to Gerard and let his brother skim the excess energy off of him. He didn’t have to do any work and he was doing something nice for Gerard. Definitely the best option.

Gerard didn’t want to go out tonight, though. He had a bottle of vodka and a stack of new comics and a DVD he kept shoving under the pillow when Mikey tried to look at it, so it was probably porn. Fine. He could do what he wanted. Mikey wasn’t under house arrest, and he was going out.

Mikey stood on the porch for a few minutes, tugging his jacket tightly around himself and focusing on the ritualized series of steps to make sure he didn’t miss anything while he locked up his pyrokinetic energy.

Fucking itching, instantly. And the hint of a headache at the back of his skull. But he’d locked it down enough that the energy would stay in until he consciously released it, and that was what mattered.

He deliberately chose a show where Midtown wasn’t playing, on a night where they weren’t playing anywhere else. That put the question of Saporta showing up totally in the hands of random chance. There was no reason why that felt fair; he hadn’t _done_ anything to Saporta, that other night. In fact, Saporta was the one who did things to _him_ , vigorous and energetic things. Things he would totally consider doing again, if random chance put them together again tonight and Saporta was still into him once the energy was locked down.

He got to the show just as the first opener was tearing down. It was crowded, the air thick with smoke and perfume and sweat. He wound his way through the crowd to the bar, ordering a double vodka tonic to prepare himself for the press of bodies all night. It would be good, once he was drunk enough to settle into it, but until that point it was another pressure on his skin, fighting with the itch of re-absorption, and if he didn’t drink enough to calm it down he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

He stood at the bar and pounded the drink, letting the heat rush through him while he scanned the crowd. Lots of people he knew, but not many he wanted to talk to. A few girls he recognized, and the drummer from a little local band who had been talking about hooking him up with a friend who needed a rhythm guitarist; he _should_ go talk to that guy or one of the girls, buy them drinks and make sure his good name stayed intact, but he just didn’t _want_ to. He wanted to stand here and drink another double vodka and keep searching through the crowd for a specific person that he didn’t want to admit he was looking for.

On his third drink, which was just when he was feeling sad and one drink before he would decide fuck it and go talk to the girls, Saporta walked in. Mikey felt it before he consciously registered it; it was hard not to notice when Gabe Saporta walked into a room. He had that fucking… magnetism, charisma, that some people were born with and some people were never going to have if they lived a million years. 

And of course, Gabe looked at the bar first, and saw Mikey, and then it was _really_ impossible not to feel it. It was just like at the party: Gabe’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and this time Mikey could’ve sworn he saw them flash gold as Gabe started cutting his way across the room. He shoved past people like they weren’t even there, his eyes fixed on Mikey. 

It was a pretty powerful feeling. Mikey downed the rest of his drink and dropped his cup on the bar, sinking his weight down on his heels so he would hold his ground as Gabe came up to him. Gabe didn’t stop until they were almost nose to nose, breathing each other’s air.

Mikey could feel the heat radiating off Gabe’s skin. It made all the pyrokinetic energy he was holding on to want to come bursting out. It made him want to burn the building down.

“Hi,” he said, feeling himself start to smile. “What’s up?”

Gabe licked his lips, and Mikey thought he heard him growl, or maybe felt the vibration of the sound under the noise of the room.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gabe said.

“You just got here.”

“I don’t care.”

“The show hasn’t even started.”

That time Gabe definitely growled. “Then let’s go backstage.”

Mikey glanced over at the security guy standing by the door leading to the back. “You think Kev will let you through?”

“If he knows what’s good for him.” Gabe’s fingers closed around Mikey’s wrist, squeezing a little too tightly to be a promise, not quite tight enough to be a threat. “Come on, Way.”

Mikey followed along, feeling all of the energy he was holding back rush through his body like a magnet, drawn to Gabe. Maybe it was pulling the blood along with it, because he felt light-headed, dizzy, kind of giddy. Like being drunk only _more_. He could get used to this.

Kev looked at Gabe for a minute, then shrugged and stepped aside. They made their way down the back hall, past the dressing rooms, past the bathroom, past the loading dock. Mikey started to laugh when they rounded the last corner. “A closet? Seriously?”

“Can you think of anywhere else where nobody’ll bother us?”

“Why not the bathroom?”

“They’re gonna be doing all kinds of shit in there.” Gabe tested the door handle, scowling when it wouldn’t turn.

“I’ll get the key from Kev,” Mikey said, tugging his arm free, but Gabe shook his head and turned the handle again. This time there was a squealing protest of metal and the handle, bolt and all, came away in Gabe’s hand.

Mikey blinked at the door. “You’re going to have to pay for that, you know.”

“I know.” Gabe flipped on the lights and reached back, hooking his fingers in the collar of Mikey’s shirt and pulling him into the little square of empty space in the center of the closet. He shoved the broken handle back into the hole in the door, and it hung there, unsteady but enough that nobody would notice the damage at a casual glance.

Gabe pushed Mikey up against the shelf of toilet paper and Mikey forgot about the door. Gabe’s eyes were definitely gold now, gold and _glowing_ , and just as he really registered that Gabe shoved his face against the curve of Mikey’s neck and sniffed him, a few quick sounds and then a deep, heady inhalation.

“Fuck,” Gabe whispered against his skin. “You smell amazing.”

Mikey tilted his head back, giving Gabe more room. “So, you really are a dragon.”

**

Gabe stopped, his breath catching in his throat, and took a step back. “What?”

“It’s cool.” Mikey stayed where he was, back to the shelves, holding Gabe’s gaze. Gabe couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or if Mikey Way really was just totally calm about this. “I’m kinda into it, actually.”

Gabe rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly aware that his eyes had shifted, that he was seeing things in infrared and sub-green and the other ranges dragons had that humans didn’t. “You’re into it.”

“Yeah. Like you’re into me.” Mikey shrugged. “I looked it up. Firestarters are dragon catnip.”

Gabe felt like he was two steps behind everything, scrambling to catch up while a truck bore down on him. “Is that what this is?”

Mikey shrugged again, his mouth twisting in a crooked smile. “I figured you would know more than me. But maybe. I could be wrong. You could just, like, be attracted to me. Does that gross you out?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gabe made himself take a breath. “Dude. You have no idea. Technically I should kill you for even joking about it, or guessing, or… saying anything even remotely like that. I should seriously kill you.”

“You’re not going to kill me.”

“I’m supposed to. It’s a family rule.”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “If you were going to do it you would’ve done it by now. No witnesses in the supply closet.”

“I could take you to my dad’s house and have him do it.”

“You could.” Mikey folded his arms over his chest. “Or you could quit freaking out and we could fuck.”

Gabe stared at him. “I, uh, I kinda lost the mood, here.”

“I bet I can fix that.” Mikey’s face screwed up, like he was concentrating on something small and intricate. When it relaxed and he looked up again, a ripple of yellow flame rushed over his skin, like a million candles.

Everything in Gabe’s body rushed toward those lights. It didn’t matter that he had broken one of the rules that were held sacred; it didn’t matter that his father was going to blister his wings with anger and disappointment; it didn’t matter that he should probably be finding a good spot for Mikey’s shallow grave. What mattered was getting his hands on Mikey again, his body pressed to his own, and feeling the rush of flames between them.

“They don’t burn you either,” Mikey said, his eyes wide. The flames moved over Gabe’s skin just like they did on Mikey’s own, dancing along the surface and leaving no damage behind. Gabe felt it as a gentle tingle, and every cell in his body luxuriated in it, wanting more.

“Of course not,” he said. “Fire is my element.”

“Fucking cool.” Mikey concentrated again, and the flames grew, jumping higher on their bodies and flowing more rapidly between them, racing down their legs to the floor and guttering out against the cement. Gabe could smell their clothes starting to singe. They were going to have a problem if Mikey didn’t reel it back in. 

Or maybe more than one problem, given that the shelves around them were stocked with toilet paper and various solvents.

“Let’s go outside,” Gabe said. “Alley. Parking lot. Stuff that won’t burn and kill us both.”

“I can control it.” Mikey sounded almost dreamy. Not slurring like he was drunk, but… more like he was high. He hadn’t sounded like that when they started. Did firestarters get high on flames? Or on dragons? Or… fuck. Gabe didn’t know anything about anything.

But Mikey was gesturing again, making a closing motion with his fingers, and the flames died back to candle-sized, even birthday-candle-sized, and the char marks didn’t spread any further from the edges of Gabe’s clothes.

“See? I got this.” Mikey giggled. “I swear I won’t set anything on fire when I blow my load, either. Perfect control. I read a book.”

“You read a fucking book?”

“Yeah. It was good.” Mikey hooked his fingers in Gabe’s belt loops and pulled him close. “Fucking kiss me.”

Kissing him brushed away every other thought Gabe had. Mikey’s hand slipped from his waistband to press against his dick, rubbing slowly through his jeans, and Gabe sighed and leaned into it, holding Mikey to the shelves with his body. His head was singing with heat and need and desire, the phantom reminder of his wings ached to unfurl and tear the building to matchsticks, and all he could hear was the rush of flames, gobbling up all the oxygen in the room.

Mikey slipped the button on Gabe’s jeans and pushed the zipper down. “Hope this is fireproof too, right?”

“Oh my god.” Gabe closed his eyes as Mikey’s hand slipped down inside his briefs and guided his dick up over the waistband. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He wasn’t looking, but he felt the flames rush over his dick behind Mikey’s fingers as he traced a line from the tip to Gabe’s balls. 

“This is awesome.” Mikey pulled the fire back into his hand, then sent it rushing over Gabe again. “Does it feel awesome?”

Gabe nodded jerkily and tilted his head back, fighting the urge to shift. There was a lot of fire around to still be in human form. If he was in his dragon shape he could wallow in it, roll in the flames, let them heat his scales to glowing. It wasn’t the same like this. He wasn’t burning, but he wasn’t feeling it completely, either. It wasn’t quite right.

“I think I’m gonna blow you this time,” Mikey said, “unless you’ve got a condom with you, cause I don’t. Cool?”

Gabe nodded again, catching Mikey’s mouth in another kiss. “Just don’t stop touching me. And don’t let the fire get any bigger.”

“I’ll keep it just like this.” Mikey grinned at him, and for a minute it was like Gabe was seeing something else, a glimpse behind a curtain, someone other than scene king Mikey Way.

But then Mikey slipped down to his knees and took Gabe’s dick in his mouth, settling his hands on Gabe’s thighs so the fire flowed out from them over the skin, and he couldn’t think about anything at all.

**

_2003_

Mikey gripped the sides of the sink and ordered his stomach to cooperate. They were halfway through the tour, every night had gone _fine_. There was no reason to still be puking before every set.

Logic had never stopped him for more than one night before, but he never stopped hoping.

He splashed water on his face and squinted at himself in the mirror. They had arrived in Chicago early that morning, but he’d been riding shotgun and on keep-the-driver-awake duty the last stretch, so he’d spent most of the day asleep, and didn’t wake up until late enough that he basically had to start drinking right away to be ready by showtime.

He had a schedule for these things. His life was completely under control.

He wet his hands again and raked his fingers through his hair, twisting it here and there and hoping it would dry decently. No time to re-style it fully tonight. 

Someone pounded on the door, James or Gabe by the height of the sound. “Way!” James called, and Mikey turned off the sink. “Come on, we haven’t got all night.”

“I’m coming, shut up.” He was a little disappointed that it wasn’t Gabe; a few minutes alone together in the bathroom was always nice to have before a show. Now he wouldn’t catch him until after Midtown’s set, when people would keep bothering them about teardown and load-out and signing and shit.

Still, however long it took before they could go off together, it would be worth it. Almost two years later and it was still so intense, every time. Gabe fucking _jumped_ on him, and if Mikey loosened the reins on his power even a little bit they could both get so fucking high on it. Sex and magic. The best combination in the world.

He grinned at James and gave him a little salute as he left the bathroom. “All yours, my friend.”

“Thank you, Mikey, I’m sorry for interrupting your time with your reflection.” James smacked him on the back of the head. “I’ve gotta shit, though, and if you took any longer I was gonna do it right here on the floor and make you clean it up.”

“We’ve got roadies for that now!” Mikey hurried down the hall, looking for Gerard, or Gabe, or anyone who could distract him from the thought of the show for a few more minutes.

Instead he walked right into Ray, who grabbed him by the shoulder and force-marched him to side-stage to get his stuff set up. He felt his stomach twisting tighter by the second, just being that close to the stage. It would be fine. It was always fine, in the end. But fuck this part.

**

Pete showed up at the venue at doors because he was bored, not because he was into this show. Midtown was awesome, and he’d heard good things about My Chem and Reggie, but this wasn’t really his _thing_ , tonight. 

Neither of his bands had a gig, and being at a show was better than being at home. That was all. Not a thing.

He sat at the bar and watched the empty stage. People were moving around in the wings, arguing with each other, picking equipment up and putting it down, tuning things. He liked to see that part of a show, the backbone under the skin. It reminded him that all of this was real and that he could do it, too. He still liked reminding himself of that even after all these years of _actually_ doing it for real. None of it was magic; or if it was, it was the best kind of magic, the kind he could do himself.

The kind he could do himself _reliably_. He bit his lip and lowered his shields just a fraction, letting the emotional noise of the still half-empty room creep toward him. He wasn’t too sensitive tonight; mid-range. He could ride the crowd for Midtown’s set, at least. Probably not either of the other bands, though, or it would be too much, he’d get all raw and sensitive and half to go home to lie in bed inside his parents’ shields and pretend he hadn’t turned his empathy into the equivalent of raw hamburger for a couple of days.

Erratic-inconsistent empathy. The bullshit kind. It varied in strength from day to day, from not being able to feel anything to not being able to shield himself enough to walk down the sidewalk. Sometimes he was projecting, sometimes he was receiving. Every day an adventure. If he had his way, he’d cut off his head and be done with it.

He took a drink and watched stage right, where a red-headed guy and a skinny dirty-blond guy were passing a bass back and forth, making little adjustments to the strings, making faces, and changing it again. The dirty-blond was cute. Pete would look for him later.

Someone else stepped out of the backstage hallway to join them, and Pete choked on his next swallow. Gabe from Midtown, taking the bass into his hands and fixing whatever it was they were screwing up. Shit. Gabe Saporta.

Gabe looked up, like he felt Pete’s eyes on him or something, and Pete looked away, pushing his glass toward the bartender for a refill and doubling his shields. Shit. Maybe he had projected toward Gabe without even realizing it. Maybe Gabe felt stabbed in the stomach with a phantom boner. _Shit_.

When he looked again, Gabe had disappeared, and the two guys were looking at a different guitar. Pete closed his eyes and put his head down on the bar.

This was going to be a long night. But no way was he going home.

**

Gabe knew about most of the weird dragon stuff by now. When he started going on the road with the band more than just a few hours away, his dad sat him down and went over everything he was likely to run into. The few remaining old knight orders who might recognize him, how to invoke sanctuary with another wing of dragons or a group of elves, how to recognize a dragonbane ward, and on and on.

He knew that feeling this weird meant he’d run into _something_ from the dragon side of things. Unfortunately part of the weirdness was that he couldn’t concentrate enough to remember what it might be. 

He stared down at his bass, for a moment finding himself completely at a loss for what it was doing in his hands. Something… something with the strings. Tighten them? Take them off? Probably not take them off. 

He should carry the instrument onstage, and walk across the open space to where it overlooked the crowd, and then he should go a few feet back into the people, over to the far left, by the bar, and he should…

“Dude, are you done tuning yet?” Tyler asked sharply. 

Gabe put his bass back on the rack and stepped away. “Yeah, I’m done, man. Knock yourself out.”

He needed to go out on the floor. On the far left, by the bar. There was something there that was really important. Maybe the most important thing in the world, in his whole life, and he needed to…

“Hey.”

He looked up, blinking. Mikey was standing in the middle of the walkway, weaving on his feet from My Chem’s pre-stage round or three. “Hey.”

Mikey’s brow furrowed a little. “You okay? You look a little sick.”

“Just my head.” Gabe gestured at it, startled when his fingers brushed against his hair. It didn’t feel right. He shouldn’t _have_ it. He should have scales, wings, a tail, he shouldn’t be in this form right now.

He lowered his hand, then wrapped his arms around himself, holding on tightly. “Okay, yeah, maybe something’s wrong,” he muttered. “Shit.”

Mikey stepped closer, touching his arm. “Dude, what’s wrong? Do you need me to get somebody?”

_I need my dad_ , he thought, but there was no way to do that right now. No time. He could hear Reggie starting their set, a million miles away. “It’s… it’s a dragon thing.”

“Oh.” Mikey patted his arm again. “Do you need to, like… change? I’ve never actually seen you change. It would be cool. Not you being sick, that’s not cool. But seeing you. That would be cool.”

Gabe closed his eyes, wishing there was literally anyone else here to help him with this than a drunk-ass Mikey Way. Sober Mikey would at least be quiet.

That wasn’t fair. Fuck. He’d been sleeping with Mikey for two years and he hadn’t let him see him change, and now he was thinking things like he didn’t even _like_ Mikey. Which wasn’t true. He liked him a lot. Mikey was great, funny and weird and always willing to keep someone company on a rough night or a bad weekend. He gave people a lot of shit but he took his share, too. Gabe didn’t need to be one of the people handing it out to him.

But it was hard to _focus_ on that now, when every cell in his body was screaming at him to go out to the floor, somewhere in the center now, and change form so he could claim something that was waiting for him there.

“Gabe?” Mikey’s hand tightened on his shoulder. He sounded more concerned now, the emotion cutting through the alcohol. “Dude, for real, talk to me, or I’m going to go have them call an ambulance.”

“No! No. Not that. I can’t… no. No hospitals.” Gabe made himself straighten up and wipe his face on his sleeve. He was sweating, his stomach was in knots, and spasms were running through his back as his muscles tried to leap ahead to another form without him. He had to get a grip. 

“I can get through the show,” he said, looking Mikey in the eyes. “But after, like _right_ after, I’m going to need to get outside. Can you help me?”

Mikey’s eyes were huge, dark and puzzled, his glasses making them look even bigger in his thin face. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll wait for you offstage.”

“Thank you.” Gabe touched Mikey’s face, letting the familiar spark jump between them, his dick stirring despite the nausea running through his body. Mikey Way. His firestarter.

“Go sit down,” Mikey said. “Just stick to the dressing room until you have to go on.”

“I like to watch your set.”

“I know, but if you pass out you _are_ gonna end up at the hospital. And then what, right? All kinds of bullshit.” Mikey turned his head and kissed Gabe’s palm. “Go.”

Gabe went, curling up on the end of the couch in the dressing room. He just had to make it through the set. A set was a hundred years and less than an hour, at the same time. He could do it. And then he could take his other form for a few minutes and figure out what was wrong with him in this one.

**

The show was pretty fucking killer. Pete was glad he came out. Midtown was as good live as their albums, except even better, because _Gabe Saporta_ , up there all sweaty and doing jumps and spins and playing that teal bass. Pete needed one of those. Maybe purple, though. But something that you wanted to look at, like that. Something powerful.

It was easy to dodge past the security guys at sidestage; they all knew him. “Hey, Randy,” he said, bouncing up on his toes to punch the Randy in the ribs. “Text me and let me know what kind of pizza you want next week, we’ll bring an extra one for you.”

“Fuck you, Wentz.” Randy made a half-hearted attempt to grab him. “I don’t need your damn pizza.”

“But you _want_ it, man. You know you want it.” Pete stuck his tongue out at him and hurried down the hall toward the dressing rooms, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say to the guys in Midtown. He needed to be cool, but not _too_ cool; he wanted them to know he meant it. He was deadly serious about Midtown.

Just before he got to the dressing room, the door burst open and Gabe stumbled out, his hands over his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned, reaching back with one arm, groping for something he couldn’t see. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

The skinny guy from earlier--My Chem’s bassist, Pete knew now; Mikey--followed him, taking Gabe’s hand in his and squeezing it tight, putting his other arm around Gabe’s waist. “C’mon, dude,” he said patiently. “This way, c’mon. Get you outside.”

“Is he okay?” Pete asked, jogging a few steps to catch up with them. “What’s wrong? Did he take something? Was it from the dudes at Enzo’s? You can’t fucking trust those guys, man, sorry, really bad example of Chicago hospitality.”

Gabe stopped in his tracks, almost pulling Mikey off his feet. His hands dropped from his face and he turned to Pete, his mouth twisted in a snarl that showed white teeth, sharp white teeth, more than it seemed like his mouth should hold.

“ _Fuck_ you,” Gabe whispered. “You fuck off, got it? I’m not on fucking drugs and I don’t need your fucking bullshit, I need to get _outside. Now_.”

Pete stepped back, his shoulders hitting the wall hard. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to help you here, asshole!”

“I don’t need help!” Gabe jerked away from Mikey, his hands coming up again to rake through his hair. His movements were disjointed, uncoordinated. Pete couldn’t believe he’d just seen this guy on stage fifteen minutes before, performing a kickass set.

Whatever Saporta was on, it was pretty epic shit.

Gabe snarled at him again and ran down the hall, hitting the exit to the parking lot full-force and vanishing outside. The door slammed shut behind him, loud enough that crew and security poked their heads back from side-stage to see what was going on.

“What an asshole,” Pete said.

Mikey looked at him for a minute, his expression unreadable, his mouth twisting a little like he might say something.

“Is he always like that?” Pete asked when nothing came.

“It’s complicated,” Mikey said finally. “It’s not what you think. I’m gonna… I gotta go check on him. Wait, okay? Wait here. I’ll come back. I’ll explain. Okay? Trust me? I’ll come back and explain.”

Pete shrugged, pulling his hands up inside the sleeves of his hoodie. “Whatever.”

“I’ll come back and explain,” Mikey repeated, and then he was gone, too.

**

Gabe was already at the far end of the parking lot next to the venue by the time Mikey got outside. He stood with his head down, his arms wrapped around himself, and as Mikey drew close enough to touch him, he saw that Gabe was shaking.

“Hey,” he said carefully, reaching for Gabe’s shoulder. “Gabe, dude, do you need--”

“Don’t touch me.”

Mikey let his hand drop. “Okay. I won’t.”

Gabe laughed a little, a sob mixed into the sound. “It’s against, like, so many rules for me to change here. But if I don’t, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“What happens if you break the rules?”

“I don’t know. Depends on who finds out.” Gabe doubled over, his hands clawing at his arms. “It _hurts_. Fuck.”

“Just do it, then.” Mikey looked around the lot; it was about half-empty. The people still drifting out to their cars were deep in conversation with each other, but all the streetlights were working and everything was too exposed. There weren’t any useful shadows. Across, the street, though, there was another lot, this one full of trucks and marked as no public parking. That had some potential.

“Go over there,” he said, stepping closer to Gabe as he pointed, but being careful not to touch him. “If you go behind that first row of trucks, I think you’ll be out of sight. Do you need to _fly_ , or just change? Because if you don’t fly, it might be okay? I don’t think anybody will see you.”

Gabe squinted across the street, then looked at Mikey. He looked more vulnerable than Mikey had ever seen him, grateful and young. “Thanks. Thanks, Mikey. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me shit.” 

“I do.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Mikey pulled back a step. “Blow me later and we’ll call it even.”

Gabe closed his eyes again, then nodded, straightening up. “Go back and tell that guy I’m sorry for being a dick? I’ll make it up to him.”

“Yeah. I will.”

“And don’t let him follow me. Okay?” Gabe actually sounded scared, his voice small. “Don’t let him near me.”

Mikey frowned, wanting to ask more, but Gabe looked so frantic that he finally just nodded. “Okay. Now _go_.”

He watched Gabe jog across the street and circle around the first row of trucks, then counted to sixty before he followed. It was probably a shitty thing to do, but he wanted to see Gabe shifted. He wanted to know.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the more scattered, dimmer lights in the truck lot, but once they did he started to smile. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but… better. Definitely better. 

Gabe wasn’t huge in dragon form; about the size of a horse. Not even the big horses from the Budweiser commercials, but like the ones at the tracks in Jersey. His scales were a dark bronzey-green, his eyes were wide and golden, and his wings were spread and delicate-looking. They reminded Mikey of a bat’s wings more than anything. They were pretty.

Gabe tilted his head back to the sky and stretched his neck out, swaying lightly. He lashed his tail over the asphalt, sending dirt and bits of stone flying. His claws dug in and worked more debris loose. Mikey wanted to spend an hour there, just watching him move, seeing how the muscles and bones fit together under his beautiful skin. He wanted to touch the scales and see what they felt like. He wanted to send fire dancing over them.

All this time he’d figured the firestarter-dragon thing ran one way, that he got Gabe’s motor going on some instinctive level, but everything _he_ felt for _Gabe_ was normal human attraction and nothing else. Seeing him in his dragon form, though, it was all different. He felt his power singing in his blood, longing for Gabe. They were connected.

Gabe looked over his shoulder in Mikey’s direction, nostrils flaring. He cocked his head to the side and crooned softly, a puzzled sound. Mikey stepped back more securely in the shadow of the trucks, then turned and ran back to the venue. 

His stomach was twisting up again, his hands going cold. Anxiety, sourceless and formless and weird. Gabe would be pissed at him for watching, maybe. Even a maybe was enough to set it off. He needed another couple of drinks to bring him down and lock him in his body again.

The guys were already doing load-out. He dodged around them to get into the back hallway, ignoring Frank and Ray when they tried to grab at him and make him help. He needed to find the guy Gabe had been talking to. He’d come back to the trailer in a minute.

The guy was actually helping Otter, fitting an amp into its case like he knew what he was doing. “Hey,” Mikey said awkwardly.

The guy glanced up, and Mikey felt a wave of wary uncertainty rush over him. It didn’t match the rest of his anxiety, though. The flavor was off.

“Empath?” he asked, automatically checking that his own power was tamped down and restrained.

The guy made a face. “Shit. Yeah, sorry.” He clenched his jaw for a minute, and the uncertainty faded away. “I’m Pete, by the way. You’re Mikey, right?”

“Mikey Way.” He nodded and glanced at Otter, who rolled his eyes, lifted the case, and walked off down the hallway. “Gabe said to tell you he’s sorry. He’s not usually an asshole like that. He just, um. He doesn’t feel well.”

Pete shrugged. “Whatever.”

There wasn’t much Mikey could say to that, especially not when he was still choking on his own nerves. “You want to get a drink?”

Pete blinked at him, startled. “For real?”

“Yes. Now.”

“Don’t you have to help with the stuff?”

“It’s fine. They won’t care.” Gerard never had to help. They could draft him just this once if they really needed the extra pair of hands. “Come on. I think I’m still comped at the bar.”

Pete grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then lead the way.”

**

Gabe still knew where he was. The next day, and the day after that, even when they were back in Jersey, a thousand miles from Chicago. He could still feel Pete.

He lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, one hand over his heart so he knew he was still there, and he felt the tiny movements of this guy half a continent away, going about his day, doing his thing, with no idea that Gabe even existed at all.

He could identify it now, out of all the dragon things he’d memorized. This was kind of a big one. And he’d fucked it up.

_My treasure_ , he thought, rubbing his chest, pressing down over his heart like he could make it stop. _I found my treasure and I ran away._

Usually a treasure was a thing, but sometimes it was a person, or a plant. Some dragons never found theirs at all, and they did just fine. His dad’s was a book of poetry, which he kept three levels deep in drawers and cabinets that he built himself for the specific purpose of protecting it. Treasures were serious things.

And Gabe _ran away_ from his. He would probably never see Pete again.

From what Mikey had said, the guy had totally written Gabe off as an asshole. They had a few drinks and made out in the bathroom and Pete gave Mikey his number, but Gabe couldn’t use that to ask forgiveness because… well, because he _was_ an asshole, and he deserved to lose his treasure for being stupid. He would just stay here with his stupidness and pine away and die and that was what he deserved.

He could feel Pete _laughing_ , in his head. Pete was happy. Happy and far away.

He was supposed to meet up with Rob the next day to start sketching out ideas for the next album. They needed to go big or give up with this one. They were running out of next chances.

Maybe he could make music out of how much he’d screwed up. That seemed like the only option left.

**

_What inspired Forget What You Know?_

GS: I lost something before I even knew I had it. It made me do a lot of thinking about, like. Life. The way things come and go. How things disappear. 

_Sounds like things got heavy._

GS: They did. They definitely did. Some of the guys, uh, they didn’t really care for that. They weren’t sure heavy was the way to go. But we trust each other, in this band. They agreed to follow me down that road.

 

\- Rock Sound, “Do You Remember Midtown?,” 2004

**

_2005_

Mikey loved hiding out on Fall Out Boy’s bus, curled up in Pete’s bunk like it was the world’s best hiding place. It was always just cool enough without the air conditioning hurting his skin, and it smelled good. 

It smelled like Pete, and Mikey was smitten. 

Right now Pete was drawing dinosaurs on Mikey’s arm with a ballpoint pen. It hurt a little, but Mikey didn’t mind. He could watch Pete through half-closed eyes, and the pain made sure he didn’t drift off to sleep and miss any of it. 

“This is some of my finest work,” Pete said, shading in an area above Mikey’s elbow. “True art.”

Mikey hummed softly, then licked his lips. “Do the thing again.”

Pete smiled, his eyes still fixed on Mikey’s skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Pete’s hands went still as he concentrated. Mikey could tell just when Pete’s shields dropped, because warm contentment washed over him like sunlight, gentle pressure on his skin, the faint constant undertone of sadness proving it was real.

Pete had told him it was kind of a feedback loop; he took in Mikey’s own drowsy happy feeling, blended it with his own emotions just by being himself, and then projected outward again. Then he took in how Mikey felt about how he felt, blended, projected, and so on, over and over again, both of them just wrapped up in this tucked-away mellow space. Their sadness got woven in but never got a chance to overwhelm the light. And if it tried, they had enough happy pills stashed away to smash it for a while.

Right now they didn’t need them, though. They had dinosaurs and each other and nowhere to be for a while.

Pete carefully started drawing another tiny tailed body. “You heard from Gabe?”

“Yeah.” Mikey let his eyes slip closed for a moment. “It’s probably really over. Sounds like it’s really over.”

Pete’s pen stilled, then started moving again, careful and precise. The precision hurt more. “No more Midtown. That sucks.”

“You should text him about it.”

“Maybe.” The pen dug in a little too much and Mikey flinched. Pete kissed his shoulder in apology and started drawing again, more lightly. “Yeah, I will. Tonight.”

“You’ve gotta tell me someday how you two made up with each other.”

“I did tell you.”

“Not everything. Not all the details.” He opened his eyes a sliver and looked at Pete through his lashes. “There’s a big suspicious gap in your story that I bet is full of sucking dick.”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” Pete added horns to his drawing. “And I am a goddamn lady.”

Mikey snorted. “You ran into him at a club, he got his dick out to establish dominance over some guy, you decided you wanted to be friends after all, he bought you a drink, big suspicious dick-sucking gap, he helped you make it to the airport in time for your flight.”

“Yep.”

“Nothing ladylike in that story, dude.”

“I’ll take my secrets to my grave.” Pete dropped the pen into the bedding and stretched out next to Mikey, face to face, their noses an inch apart.

Mikey took Pete’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “No graves.” Pete made a face, and Mikey broke through the inch of space to kiss him.

Kissing was good, really good. He loved kissing Pete in the dark of the bunk, where nobody could see them, where they had their own little world.

“Maybe I’ll ask him if he wants to come out and hang with us for a little bit,” Pete said, breathing warm and shallow against Mikey’s lips. “Join the tour for a day or two.”

“That would be pretty sweet.” Mikey had a sudden image of all three of them curled up in the bunk, pressed so close together there wasn’t room for anything but skin and breath. He had no idea where Gabe’s legs would go, but they could figure that out later. “Do it.”

“I will.” Pete kissed him again, slowly, his tongue thrusting lazy-wet against Mikey’s. “Later.”

“What’re you going to do now?”

Pete shrugged, then shifted up onto his elbows, climbing on top of Mikey slowly. He always left plenty of time for Mikey to shrug him off or pull away. Mikey didn’t do it very often.

Vague happy sunshiney content vibes were still feeding back and forth between them. If Mikey stopped thinking and lost himself in the slow grind of their bodies until he came, he could fall asleep here, and not have to worry about anything the rest of the afternoon.

So he did.

**

_I luv Mikey Way_ , Pete typed into the text box. He stared at it for a long time before he made himself delete it and close out of the window.

He had to be careful; he knew he had to be careful. They’d agreed on that, and he didn’t want to be the one who turned out to be a liar, for once. He didn’t want to be the one who fucked it up.

He pushed his laptop away and took out his phone instead, checking to see if Saporta had replied to his message yet. Nothing. If Midtown was really breaking up, then Gabe was probably really sad and shit. Avoiding stuff. Pete knew the feeling, knew the tactics. He wasn’t going to fight with Gabe about it and he wasn’t going to push, but he really hoped he would take him up on the offer and come join them on tour. Even just for a couple of days, it would be really good to see him.

He thought about what Mikey had said, his guesses about when Pete and Gabe had run into each other in New York, the dick-sucking gap in the story. He wasn’t wrong, exactly. It had been making out and handjobs; no dicks were sucked. But it was… it was intense. That was what Pete remembered, more than the physical, was how intense Gabe’s eyes were, how dark and hollow and… desperate, almost, when he looked at Pete. It was like he was trying to tell Pete something that wasn’t getting through, and he _knew_ it wasn’t, but he didn’t know what to do differently.

Maybe if he came out to the tour, they could all figure it out together. Mikey knew Gabe really well, they had been banging for years, he would totally be able to help them figure it out. Three brains were better than two.

Pete felt himself blushing a little, his stomach tightening up, just _remembering_ how Gabe had looked at him. Like he was something precious and special. He couldn’t figure out why Gabe would think so. It didn’t make any sense. But it didn’t seem like a trick. 

He went back through the saved messages on his phone, looking for the ones Gabe had sent when Pete went into the hospital, when… when things had been bad. They weren’t there anymore, he knew they weren’t, but he caught himself looking for them a lot when he thought about Gabe. They had been so panicked, so raw. He didn’t think anybody but maybe Patrick and Andy and his mom would be so scared for him.

He still didn’t know how Gabe _knew_. Nobody who knew would’ve called him.

He went back to the most recent message and sent another one. _Really hope u can come. Want 2 c u alot._

Twenty minutes later, he finally got an answer. _Yes. I’ll be there Saturday. Don’t change your mind._

**

Mikey was hiding out in one of the equipment trailers, smoking with Alicia the tech, when Gabe arrived. Hanging with Alicia was another good safe space. She always had good weed and her power was blackout, with a fairly small range but high stability.

Blackout wasn’t an energy sink like Gerard. She didn’t siphon any energy off. She just stopped powers altogether, for anyone who came within five feet of her, or so. They shut off like she’d flipped a switch. Being with her was totally safe. He couldn’t burn even if he wanted to.

With her and Gerard both around, he didn’t have to put a lot of thought toward keeping himself contained. He’d simplified the visualization of tying his power into himself down to the level of a simple knot, the same as tying a shoelace. When he wasn’t with them, he mentally twisted the strings together, around and under and through, and tied things off to keep them cycling under his skin. Easy. 

Plus, good weed. That helped, too.

“So what’s up with you and Wentz?” she asked, resting her head against the stack of amp cases. “Don’t bullshit me. Just be honest.”

Mkey exhaled smoke slowly and shrugged. “He makes me laugh. He listens to me. We mess around and it feels happy and safe. He doesn’t _need_ anything from me.”

She frowned a little. “I bet that’s not true. I bet he needs a lot.”

“If he does he hasn’t said anything about it.”

“Huh. Fair enough.” She was quiet for a few minutes, playing with her lighter. He imagined he could see the cloud of power emanating from her like smoke, settling into the parts of him that produced his own power and turning them off. “He’s pretty excited about Saporta coming to visit.”

“Yeah. He’s, like, eighty percent charisma and the other twenty percent is dick. You’ll like him.”

“I will, huh? Which part’s gonna win me over, the charisma or the dick?”

Mikey grinned. “The dick’s all gonna be for me, sorry. I’ve got paranormal dibs.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s a dragon.” It still feels weird to say it out loud, but Gabe went and outed himself in that interview, so there wasn’t any reason not to tell anybody. “Firestarters are, like… we pretty much send them into heat. It’s awesome.”

“So you’re going to be messing around with him, Wentz, and me? How are you going to get any sleep, or make it to your sets?”

“It’ll work itself out one way or another.”

“So zen.” She took another hit and coughed as the trailer door swung open. “Fuck you, what?”

One of the techs, Keith, leaned in and wrinkled his nose. “You guys ever hear of ventilation?”

“It would go against the point right now.” Mikey waved his hand around like it had a chance of helping. “What’s up?”

“Saporta’s here. He was looking for you, but nobody knew where you were.”

“Oh.” Mikey stood up carefully, balancing himself against the cases. “Where’s he now?”

“He asked where Wentz was, so we sent him off over there. Has he been sick or something? Saporta, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“He looks fucking awful. Skinny and his face is all, like, gray or something. His hands were shaking. Is he on something?”

“His band’s breaking up.” That didn’t seem like enough for Gabe to look that bad, though. Mikey hopped down out of the trailer and walked a few feet, until he felt his power rise up in him again as he left Alicia’s zone. He tied it up shoelace-style and looked at Keith again. “Their bus?”

“Yeah. Have fun.” Keith climbed up in the trailer with Alicia and Mikey set off at a trot that wove around a little but got him there eventually.

He punched in the door code and let himself in, climbing up into the A/C and nodding quick acknowledgment to Patrick and Andy in the front. They both looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t bother trying to parse it. Those two were never going to make any sense. 

He didn’t check Pete’s bunk; there was no reason Pete would take Gabe to his bunk straight away, at least none Mikey could think of. They must be in the back lounge. He popped the handle on the door and stepped in.

Pete was standing close to Gabe, his head tilted back to look Gabe in the eye. Gabe had Pete’s face cradled in his hands, fingers caressing Pete’s face like it was made of glass, or gold, something fragile or precious. Gabe’s eyes glowed gold, his pupils slitted catlike. When he turned at Mikey’s entrance, a snarl crossing his face, Mikey saw that his teeth were longer than they should be, sharper. A mouthful of fangs.

“Mikey,” Pete said faintly. “Mikey, did you… did you know Gabe’s really a…”

Mikey closed the door tightly behind him and threw the lock, then leaned back against it to keep it closed as best he could. “Yeah, I did. I’m pretty sure he can’t do this, though. The rules, Gabe, what the hell?”

“I can’t help it,” Gabe said, and his voice was all wrong, coming from a throat that wasn’t meant for it, carrying frequencies that made the metal walls of the bus hum. “He’s mine.”

**

Gabe _really_ hadn’t meant to do it. He’d planned on talking to Pete calmly, and being in control of himself. He would explain about being a dragon, having a treasure, what he needed from Pete in order to keep from going any crazier than he already had over the last two years. 

Then he actually saw Pete, smelled him, got close enough to touch him, and it all went to hell. 

“Stop it, Gabe,” Mikey said, checking the lock on the door again. “Shift back. If you shift all the way in here, you’re going to wreck the bus.”

“He’s _mine_ ,” Gabe repeated, unable to stop his voice from sounding plaintive and whiny. “I need him.”

“I didn’t say you had to give him up, I said change back. You’re freaking him out.”

Gabe could feel that, the fear coming off of Pete like smoke. He forced himself to let go of Pete and step back, curling his hands into fists and going through every mental discipline his dad had ever taught him until he could control himself enough to shift back. His claws ripped up his palms before he managed to retract them, and he wiped the blood on his jeans without thinking.

Pete stared at the red stains, eyes wide. He was shaking. Fuck, Gabe had _really_ done this all wrong. “What… you… I thought that was all bullshit, what are you…”

“It’s okay.” Mikey stepped away from the door and put an arm around Pete’s shoulders, pulling him close. Gabe closed his eyes against a burst of mingled rage and embarrassing lust. He wanted to yank Pete away from Mikey, and he also wanted to push Mikey down and fuck him on the floor. So much for mental discipline. He was really going to lose it.

“Let’s get outside,” Mikey said, wrapping his other arm around Pete, hugging him from behind. Gabe realized it was to reassure Pete, not to claim him; to make him feel protected. Protected from Gabe.

Hurting his treasure _hurt_ , hurt horribly, maybe more than anything else had hurt over the terrible months since he met Pete and walked away without getting him to acknowledge the bond. The unfinished bond had been an open wound in his guts for all this time, draining his energy, keeping him awake at night, slowly killing him. He’d lost his band because of it. He’d trashed his relationships with his friends, his father, his brother. He couldn’t think. He was sick, in body and mind, he was _sick_ and he had been for two years.

And none of that hurt half as much as realizing he was causing his treasure fear and pain.

“Outside,” Mikey said sharply. “Right now. Let’s go. Keep it together, Gabe. We’ll go back to that side lot, okay? Shouldn’t be anybody there right now.”

“I don’t know where that is,” Gabe said through clenched teeth. He was going to puke. He couldn’t puke until they were out of the bus, but he was _going_ to, there was no way to stop it.

“Follow us.”

Gabe did, watching Pete grip Mikey’s arm tightly as they walked the length of the row of buses, then past the equipment trailers, around a low fence, and across a field to a gravel parking lot partially screened by trees. 

“What is going _on_?” Pete asked while they walked. “Why does he keep saying that I’m his? What does that mean?”

“Gabe’s a dragon.” Mikey guided them to the far corner of the lot, the part most hidden by the trees and brush. “He’ll have to explain the rest of it, I’ve got no fucking clue.”  
Pete looked at Gabe, fear still written on his face but curiosity and annoyance pushing past it. “A dragon? For real?”

“I talked about it in interviews,” Gabe said tightly. Holding himself together made his bones ache, the physical pain competing with the terrible mental pain of not having his treasure. “You didn’t read them?”

“I thought you were bullshitting.”

“I poured out my fucking heart!”

“I know about interview bullshitting! I’m an expert!”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. Gabe, just change already. He won’t believe it til you fucking prove it.”

Gabe clenched his hands tighter. “Are you sure?”

Mikey nodded. “Do it. I think you’re going to explode if you don’t.”

That made Gabe laugh; weakly, but it was a laugh. “I feel like I will.”

“Then we have to explain that shit and it takes all day. Just change, man. Do it.”

Gabe couldn’t fight anymore. He was at his limit of fighting. He was tired.

He relaxed his hands, tilted his head back, and let himself go.

**

At first nothing happened, and Pete was ready to call bullshit and tell them both to never fucking talk to him again. He knew all about mean pranks for no reason. He actually knew more about that than interview bullshit, in terms of lifetime experience.

But then Gabe started to blur.

Pete squinted at him, in case it was just his eyes getting watery in the afternoon light, but it was definitely Gabe. He was blurring, then glowing a little, and then he just… changed.

Mikey made a little noise. “Fuck.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Pete asked.

“Just once.” Mikey took a cautious step forward, holding out his hand. A flame appeared in his palm, growing until his whole hand was wrapped in a layer of fire. “Hey, Gabe.”

Gabe swung his head toward them, blinking wide golden eyes. He crooned at the sight of the flame, mantling his wings and lashing his tail over the grass. He stretched his neck out and touched his nose to Mikey’s hand, and the fire crossed from Mikey to him, spreading slowly over his scales in a delicate glow that was really live flame.

“Wow,” Pete whispered.

Gabe crooned again, spreading his wings to their full span. He stepped toward Pete, bobbing his head slowly, his movements careful and exaggerated, like he was following elaborate choreography.

“What’s he doing?” Pete asked, darting a glance at Mikey. 

“No clue.” Mikey stepped back out of the way as Gabe lashed his tail again. It was as thick as Pete’s arm for most of its length; if it hit Mikey across the legs he would have a hell of a bruise. “But all that stuff about you being his, I bet it has to do with that.”

“I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!”

Gabe lowered his head, resting it on the ground at Pete’s feet. He was still holding his wings at full span, the leading edge trembling a little. From this close, Pete could see that his scales were dull under the thin layer of flame, and that he was really thin. Something was wrong, something more than his band breaking up.

He dropped to his knees, trying to find an angle that would let him look into Gabe’s eyes. “What do you need me to do?” he asked softly.

Gabe keened, high and sad, and Pete closed his eyes, reaching inside himself and letting his shields drop.

He could feel Mikey, off to the side, worried and awed and sad, underneath, sad like always. He could feel Patrick and Andy and Joe, his people, back at the buses, going about their business. He could feel all of the minds and hearts of the tour. But he could feel Gabe as strongly as himself, not just because he was closest but because, without even knowing it, Pete was tied to him.

_You’re my treasure_ , Gabe’s heart told him, not with words but the feeling behind the words, the meaning inside the meaning. _Whatever you need, anything, for as long as I am I and you are you, I will provide it. You are my treasure, and I am your servant. Forever._

Pete’s breath caught in his throat, breaking free in a sob. “Oh.”

“Pete?” Mikey’s voice sounded far away, but Pete could _feel_ it, feel Mikey’s worry and love.

“Yeah.” Pete gasped again and curled in on himself, resting his head against Gabe’s, wishing he could hide all of himself inside Gabe, be surrounded by his body. “Yes. I’m yours.”

Gabe crooned, the sound vibrating through Pete’s whole body. His tail swung out and around, wrapping around Pete’s waist and holding him close to Gabe while Gabe’s wings broke the air. He wasn’t trying to rise up from the ground, Pete knew; he was just celebrating.

He _knew_ now. He and Gabe were part of each other, the bond sealed.

Forever.

**

Mikey stood with his hands in his pockets, watching Gabe wrap himself around Pete. First the tail, then the neck, then his wings all around that like he was finishing off the package. Mikey didn’t know what was going on, exactly; some kind of mystical dragon shit, that much was obvious, but they’d both pretty clearly forgotten that he was there. He wasn’t going to get an explanation unless he went back to the bus and Googled it.

His head hurt, watching them. His stomach hurt, too. Whatever they were doing, whatever this was, there wasn’t any room in it for him. That was obvious, too.

He took a deep breath and turned away, walking back across the grounds to the line of equipment trailers. There would be someone around with weed or booze, pills if he was really lucky. He’d find something to shut off his brain and then he would just go to sleep for a while. The rest of the day, the rest of the tour. It would be fine.

He wondered what Gabe’s scales felt like. He’d never had a chance to touch them.

**

I want to talk about Gabe Saporta for a minute. Me and Gabe, we’ve got a bond that runs deep, one I can’t really explain. But it’s real. We live on opposite sides of the county and we’ve both got our own lives, but that doesn’t stop it or even slow it down. We’re never not connected. I don’t think people get that. I don’t think people want to get it. I wish I could explain better, but I can’t.

\-- Rolling Stone, “Ten Minutes with Pete Wentz and His New Gig, Black Cards,” 2010

**

_2007_

Gabe curled his body around his laptop, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. He’d sent the files off to Pete an hour ago, and now they were supposed to be GChatting about them, but Pete wasn’t _saying_ anything. 

He couldn’t stand watching the cursor any longer. He turned over onto his back, leaving the laptop sitting alone at the foot of the bed, and hit dial on his phone.

“Dude,” Pete said when he picked up. “I am _ruminating_.”  
“You can’t ruminate on chat, asshole, how am I supposed to know you didn’t fall asleep or get up and leave or something?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Pete said dismissively. “But I am listening and ruminating and you are messing up my flow.”

“Just… just tell me if you like it.” Gabe was a pathetic loser. He knew that. But he _really_ needed Pete to like this album. 

“I like it. It’s fun. It’s bitter under the fun, like… like some kind of awesome chocolate with layers. And maybe some poison in it, too. But not too much. Just enough to make you stronger.”

Gabe grinned, grabbing a pillow in his free arm and hugging it against his chest. “You really get me.”

“The whole magical bond thing will do that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gabe sat up and squinted at the laptop. “Send me very detailed thoughts when you’re done ruminating.”

“I will. I’ll send you so many details you’ll get bored.”

“I never get bored of people talking about me.” Gabe hesitated, knowing he shouldn’t press, unable to stop himself from doing it. “How’s Ashlee?”

There was a tiny fragment of a pause. “She’s good. How’s Bianca?”

Turnabout was fair play. “She’s good, too.”

They both were silent for a moment, and Gabe cracked first. He cracked first most of the time. “You guys had a fight last night?”

“Not a big deal.”

_That’s not true_ , Gabe thought, _I felt it_. When his treasure was upset, he knew it, no matter how far away.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Cool.” It was Pete’s life. Being bonded didn’t mean he had a right to interfere. It just meant that he… knew things. All the time.

“I’m gonna go, okay?” He closed the laptop and got out of bed. “Patrick will be on his way back to you this weekend. We’re pretty much done.”

“Thanks. I need him back so we can fight about writing.”

“Sounds fun.” Gabe closed his eyes and force himself not to reach out through the bond, not to try to wrap himself around Pete. There wasn’t any point. “Talk to you soon.”

“Big email coming up. As soon as I’m done ruminating. Count on it.”

Gabe smiled a little and hung up. The bond didn’t hurt, so they were still okay. Distance was a fact of life, sometimes. It didn’t have to mean anything.

He got in his car and drove lazily through Brooklyn, because he could be a little bit stupid and wasteful these days with his money and his time. He scanned the sidewalks and the other cars, looking for something he wasn’t sure of. Not trouble, probably. It didn’t feel like looking for trouble, or for prey. He was just restless. Unsettled. He wanted… stimulation.

He stopped at a red light and considered that for a minute. Stimulation. That could mean a lot of things.

His head turned to the left without conscious thought, impulse and instinct driving him. He saw them at the end of the block, both wearing big black coats and knit hats pulled down over their hair. They were holding hands.

He knew Mikey and Alicia had a place in Brooklyn, he knew they were hiding out while Mikey got his shit together, he knew _all_ of that through the sketchy remnants of the Jersey scene, and still he let himself drive down here like a creepy jackoff.

All this time, fucking _years_ since Mikey stopped speaking to him, didn’t return his messages, return-to-sendered the stuff he sent after Paramour--

He was still all lit up just from seeing him, heat racing through his blood, the physical yearning all mixed up with the emotional _I miss you_ until it made him choke.

The light turned green and he stepped hard on the gas, changing lanes on autopilot to head for the bridge. He needed to get the fuck out of the city. He needed to go back to Jersey, to a safe zone where he could spread his wings and get into the air. He needed the silence of the sky, to focus on air currents to the exclusion of everything else. If he kept thinking, if he kept _feeling_ things, he was going to lose his fucking mind.

**

_Mikey Way: You get this idea in your head that you’re this one thing, that that’s just you, that you can’t change it. But you can always, like, make a choice, you know? You can decide you’re tired of what you’re doing, how you’re living, you can change that._

\- MTV News, “Here Come The Killjoys,” 2010

**

_2009_

Pete pressed his face against Gabe’s neck, breathing in sweat and stale hair gel and old Axe and underneath all of it the loamy smell of dragon. “I love you,” he said, experimentally, to see how it sounded out loud.

Gabe hummed low in his throat, rumbly-warm noise that _sounded_ like dragon. “I love you too.” 

“This is the end of everything, except you and me.” Pete sniffed him again, wrapping his arms around him more tightly, wishing he could just sink into Gabe and disappear. Turn into a part of him. “Right? You and me, we’re not going anywhere?”

They’d just played the Latino VMAs. He’d just played his last show as part of Fall Out Boy. If Gabe hadn’t come up on the stage with him, he knew he would’ve died, right in the middle of it.

“I won’t go anywhere without taking you with me,” Gabe said, the way he’d said it fifty, a hundred, five hundred times on this trip. He was steady. He was forever. Pete belonged to him.

“I want my baby,” Pete said after a minute, “but I want to stay here with you, too.”

Gabe kissed his forehead and hummed again, warm dragon-sound all around them, strong dragon-bones, forever, everything. Belonging.

“I’ll be here when you come back,” Gabe said. “Always.”

Pete let himself be kissed again and eased away from Gabe, out of the bed. They’d booked a suite, Gabe on one side and him and Ashlee and Bronx on the other. He didn’t have to go into the hall, just walk through the bathroom to get to his wife and baby.

Ashlee was asleep, stretched across the bed with her hands folded under her head, like a kid sleeping in a movie. Pete tugged the blanket up over her before he scooped Bronx out of his pack & play.

There was a message on his phone, blinking away on the windowsill where he’d left it when they got back to the room. He’d looked at it first, then left it, because he didn’t know what to say. 

_Good show_ , it said, under the solid text reading Mikey Way. _It gets easier, the whole not having it thing. I’m lying. But believe me anyway._

**

_2011_

Mikey rolled the klonopin around on his tongue, playing with it before he swallowed it. He’d take another one right before he went inside, just in case. He had to keep himself in control tonight, no panicking, no freaking out, and this was the best way to do it.

It was stupid to freak out; he was just meeting up with Pete. They’d seen each other plenty of times since Mikey walked away. They emailed, they texted, they called once in a while. They were fine. All patched up. There was no reason why every time Mikey _still_ got so goddamn nervous.

But he still did.

The driver glanced over his shoulder at him. “Are you going to go inside?”

Mikey swallowed the pill and held up his phone. “He’s not here yet. He’s going to text me when he is.”

“You don’t want to just claim a table?”

Mikey tried to imagine the horror of sitting alone at a table, where people could see him. He definitely was going to need the extra pill. “No.”

The driver shrugged and went back to his own phone. Mikey leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, trying to breathe his way through the gap until the drug kicked in.

It was Pete who had pushed for them to meet up here in Seattle; Pete who had noticed that the two of them were playing shows the same night, My Chem on one side of town and Pete’s new thing, Black Cards, opening for Travie McCoy at a little club on the other side. He’d texted Mikey like fifty times about it, and Mikey had finally said yes when one of the texts came through while he was fuzzy enough to keep the panic from setting in. It would be fine. He knew it would be fine. He’d seen Pete plenty of times.

He was repeating himself inside his own head. He took a deep breath and popped the extra pill into his mouth.

His brain and his body were buzzing so hard with anxiety, it almost drowned out the buzzing under his skin. Being on tour left him feeling his power more than he had in years; he’d stuck so close to Alicia since they got married, they’d lived in each other’s pockets, pretty much, he’d gotten used to not having anything there in the space where the fire would be. Now he was away from her and it was all coming back, like blood flowing to a numb limb. Gerard had learned more control since the last tour; he played the crowd like a violin now, scooping the energy off of them and leaving the rest of them onstage untouched. It was… it was really different. It was all different from how it was.

He snapped his fingers and watched a candle-sized flame bloom between his fingertips. It had been so long since he played with fire. It felt like he was getting away with something, kind of. Not that anyone had ever told him not to use his power. Everybody just… assumed. But then, he had assumed, too. Gone with the flow.

He pulled the little flame back into himself before the driver saw it. Not the time, not the place. He went through the old mental steps, a little rusty now, to pull the energy inside himself and seal it up. He had to go back to his old visualization of tying a pair of shoes. Wrap around, pull it through, and _there_ , all the energy locked away to hum inside his skin and around his bones.

Pete texted him a minute later, and Mikey stepped onto the pavement just as a carefully nondescript SUV that matched the one he was getting out of pulled into the lot. Identical cars in every town. 

Pete’s bodyguard came inside with them, checked out the room, and sat down at the next table over. He gave Mikey a longsuffering look that wasn’t too hard to translate: don’t fuck up and don’t upset Pete any more than he already is. Message received.

“So how are you doing?” Mikey asked, looking at Pete over the edge of the menu.

Pete shrugged. “My real band is still dead, I’m fucking this one up even as we speak, my wife left me, and I’m on more pills than I have been since I was sixteen. So not great.”

Mikey nodded slowly and reached for his water glass. “Sucks.”

“How about you?”

“Uh.” Mikey took a drink. “Good. I mean. We’re touring again. Not dead. Everything’s fine. You know.”

Pete smiled, the terrible fake one he mostly used for the press. Mikey didn’t remember ever getting that one aimed at him before.

He didn’t have any more klonopin with him. He was going to have to switch to wine if he was going to make it through dinner.

“Why isn’t Gabe taking care of you?” he asked.

Pete frowned, folding his hands on the table. “He is. He took me to Japan with him. He stayed at my house with me. He takes really good care of me.”

“But he isn’t with you right now.”

“Spencer and Travie are.” Pete shrugged. “Gabe, like, _assigned_ Spencer to look after me. He’s my babysitter. And Travie is, like… you know.”

It was Mikey’s turn to force a smile. “Travie loves you, too.”

“Yeah.” Pete hunched his shoulders, making him look even smaller. “You should call him, you know.”

“Travie?”

“Gabe.”

Mikey shook his head. “No.”

“He misses you. A lot. He loves you, too, you know.”

“He doesn’t. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I know what I felt.” Mikey looks down at the table, surprised to find his hands gripping the edge of it like he was holding on for dear life. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Pete raised an eyebrow and took a slow drink. “Like what?”

“Literally. Anything else.”

Pete sighed, but nodded. “All right. Yeah. Seen any good movies lately?”

**

Sometimes you have to do something because you need it, because it’s better for you, even though it dicks somebody else over. I didn’t get that for a long time. I didn’t do stuff for myself, or when I did I put it off until everything else blew up and then I did it, when it was kind of too late for it to be something that would feed back to improve the rest of the situation. That sounds like I’m being cryptic about one thing, but seriously, every situation. Everything.

I got mad when other people took care of themselves, I thought they were selfish, I blamed them. It’s a hard thing to learn, but it’s important. Other people aren’t you. They have their own shit going on.

\-- Alt Press, “Pete Wentz Saves Rock and Roll,” 2013

**

_2013_

Mikey kissed him first. Pete wasn’t expecting it, not at all; Mikey called and asked if he could come over, and Pete said sure, because he’d heard about all the stuff going on and if he could be there for Mikey he would. But he’d thought he was just going to be there as in listening, nodding a lot, offering support and comfort. Assuring Mikey that it would be okay, like Mikey had assured him, before.

Instead, Mikey kissed him as soon as he was in the door. He cradled Pete’s face in his hands, holding on tight, fingers just on the edge of painful against Pete’s bones. His mouth was clumsy, teeth catching at Pete’s lips.

And he felt _hot_. Physically, genuinely. Pete’s skin flinched away from him.

“Pete,” Mikey said, his voice low and urgent. “Oh my god.”

“What’s going on? Dude.” Pete pulled away gently, bringing his own hands up to catch Mikey’s arms and establish space between them. “You’re burning up.”

Mikey laughed a little, holding out his hands and letting flame run over them visibly. “I know, right? I’m tired of being all locked up. I just want to fucking be myself. Fire and all.”

“Just don’t burn my house down.” Pete stepped back and let Mikey walk past him. “That’s the only rule.”

“Got it.” Mikey stopped in the living room, studying the pile of various pieces of leather laid over the back of the couch. “Tour outfits?”

“Options for them.” Pete shrugged. “I can’t decide. I want to keep the same look for the whole tour, but not get bored. And you know me. I get bored a lot.”

“Ha. Yeah. When I got bored I just started dressing off the merch table.” Mikey’s mouth twisted in an unhappy sneer. “Probably still owe money on that.”

“They rounded it into the loss margin, I bet.” Pete watched him for a moment, how his hands restlessly carded through the clothes, how his feet fidgeted on the floor. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m great. I’ve never been this happy.”

Pete recognized the defensive spit of the words, the need to get out ahead of the questioner and hold them off. He used to be really good at it. He probably could be again, if he tried, but he wanted to try other things first. Supposedly it was better that way.

“I’m free, you know?” Mikey waved one hand, the other curling into the collar of a jacket and holding it up from the pile. “Not stuck with somebody else’s vision. I can do whatever I want.”

“That’s awesome.” Pete sat down on the arm of a chair. “How’s Sarah?”

“She’s great, too. She’s awesome.” Mikey tossed the jacket at him. “This one.”

“You sure?” Pete held it up in front of himself. “It’s not too much?”

“Too much is your trademark.” Mikey stepped back and circled the end of the couch, moving toward Pete. “You know, we’re both starting over. That’s kind of cool, isn’t it?”

“Sort of?” Pete hugged the jacket to his chest. “I mean, I kind of wish the whole stopping part hadn’t happened, so I didn’t _have_ to start over, but everything that happened while I was stopped has made me, like, less sad and miserable, so… I guess it was important.”

“You can be anything you want now.”

“I want to be the same thing I was, but better. Less fucked up about it.” Pete watched him carefully. “It’s not like that for you, huh?”

“No. I didn’t get a vote on anything stopping. Everything got taken away and everyone abandoned me.”

“I don’t think that’s…” Pete stopped and took a breath. Mikey wasn’t listening. Pete wouldn’t have listened, either, when he was at that point, when everything was still raw and hurting like hell. He _hadn’t_ listened, when Gabe tried to tell him what he wanted to tell Mikey now. No point. He would have to try again later, when Mikey might be ready for it, like Gabe waited for Pete to be ready.

“Yeah, dude,” he said instead, and sure enough, Mikey didn’t even notice the change in direction. “I totally remember that feeling. It sucks.”

“It sucks so much.” Mikey’s jaw tightened and he stared past Pete for a moment, looking out the window. “Fuck ‘em all anyway.”

Pete waited a moment, stretching each breath to the count of ten. “What’d you come over here for, Mikey?”

Mikey looked at him again, his eyes wide and dark, his face unreadable. “I missed you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. I was thinking, when was the last time anybody gave a shit about me, actually me, not, like… what they could get out of me, or _cred_ , or… or whatever. I don’t even know. Using me to get to my family. Using me to feel better about themselves. All of that shit. When was the last time anybody _didn’t_ do that, they just _liked_ me.” He exhaled sharply. “And all I could come up with was you and Gabe, which, you know, that was a fun fucking laugh.”

“Why is it funny? We both do like you. Just for you.”

Mikey shook his head. “You did, a long time ago. Everything’s changed since then. I’ve changed. You’ve both changed. You can’t turn back the clock, you know? Everything changes and you end up… you end up just…”

Pete took another careful breath. Counting to ten wasn’t working anymore; the numbers blurred together like smoke in his head. He walked through tabs in his head instead. “So why’d you come here?”

“I think I wanted you to prove me wrong.” Mikey sat down on the couch, folding his hands between his knees like he was waiting for a bus. “Bullshit, huh? When you hear it out loud.”

“Not bullshit. I get it.” Pete hugged the jacket again, then set it carefully on the chair and stood up. He crossed over to Mikey slowly, leaving plenty of time for either of them to shy away. The longer Mikey didn’t, the more Pete couldn’t, though. He was committed.

Mikey watched him, still unreadable, though this close the tremor running through him spoke more than he probably knew. Pete kissed him, slowly and carefully, tasting him as deeply as he could before he leaned back and took another breath.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Mikey swallowed hard, his eyes glittering wet. “Hey.”

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?” Mikey ran his hand over his hair, dragging his fingers through it hard enough to leave tracks behind. “I don’t feel it.”

“Just do.” Pete shrugged a little. “You want to hang out? Want me to call Gabe?”

“I’ll hang out. For a little while.” Mikey closed his eyes and took a breath. “But don’t call Gabe.”

**

Pete stayed true to his word; he didn’t make the call. But when Gabe called him, like he did every couple of days when the bond started building up pressure and he wanted to have some kind of contact with his treasure… well, Mikey didn’t say he couldn’t _talk_ to Gabe.

Pete lived for these kind of loopholes. They were good for his soul.

“If he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want it,” Gabe said curtly. Not what Pete had been hoping for. “I’m not pushing anything on anybody.”

“He’s hurting.” Pete lay back on his bed, wishing there was something he could do with his hands besides clutching the phone. “I hate that he’s hurting, man. He needs help. He needs all of his people. He needs _us_.”

“He has you, and he doesn’t want me.”

“If you could see it--”

“I’ve seen it before. I can extrapolate to now.”

“That’s not the same. You’re _not_ seeing it. You’re very far away.”

“You know what I mean.”

Pete closed his eyes and let himself tap into their bond. It didn’t quite mesh with his empathy; it was like picking up signals on equipment from a different generation. The gist came through, but there were gaps and static. “I always know what you mean. That’s what makes us great.”

“I don’t have that with him.”

“Neither of us does.”

“You do if you want to.” Gabe sighed, the sound echoing over the phone. “I’m jealous of your stuff, Petey, I’m not going to lie.”

“Don’t be jealous. It sucks most of the time.”

“I’ve seen you up in front of a crowd. It’s incredible. It pisses me off.”

“What do you feel when you’re up there? Just an overwhelming desire to eat them?”

“I plead the fifth.” Gabe was quiet for a moment, breathing slowly. Pete found himself breathing in time, matching him without thinking about it. “I’m going flying with my dad and brother tomorrow.”

“Yeah? Good. That’s always good for you.”

“I think we’re going to go to temple, too. Like in the old days.”

“That’s awesome. You need your family time.”

“Sometimes I feel like…” Gabe fell quiet for a moment, but Pete could feel through the bond that he wasn’t done. He was just piecing his words together. Pete could wait for that.

“Sometimes I feel like all the parts of me are finally coming together,” Gabe said. “Finally making an actual, real person. Or an actual, real dragon. Whichever.”

“Or both.”

“Or both.” Gabe laughed softly, warm and rumbling, and Pete pictured wings and the constant warmth of scales. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. But I’m with you always. And you’re with me.”

“That’s true.” Gabe breathed into the phone, the hiss of sound an approximation of a breath of fire. It was Pete’s favorite way for Gabe to say goodbye, when they couldn’t be together and wrapped up in person.

“I love you,” Pete said, and added silently, _and I love him. And you love each other, when you’re not being too fucking stubborn to see it. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make it work._

“I love you too,” Gabe answered, sweet and oblivious. Pete pictured streams of fire and love, running through all the space between New York and LA. They were _there_. He knew they were. He just had to make the other two stubborn jerks in his life willing to see them.

He could be patient. He could wait them out.

**

“Loyalty, man. Remembering where you came from. That’s the number one fuckin’ thing.”

\- Gabe Saporta, MTV Red Carpet at the VMAS, 2012  
**

_2014_

While they were on the road, when Pete was alone in his bunk at night, he did a lot of thinking about everything. The big questions of life and the universe, what direction they should take the stage show, if he was ever going to be able to explain racism to Bronx in a way that didn’t alienate either of them, how much he missed Bronx and Meagan and his bed and his home, just… everything.

And about Gabe and Mikey. He thought about them a lot, too, both individually as people he loved and missed and worried about, and together, as people who were still stupidly stubbornly avoiding each other when they shouldn’t be.

When Mikey went into rehab, Gerard texted Pete, and Pete passed the word along to Gabe. Gabe never responded, which was… annoying. It dug around under Pete’s skin, bothering him long after the moment was past, and even after Mikey had finished his twenty-eight days and was back in Los Angeles.

It had been so fucking long, they couldn’t possibly still be mad or feeling the same pain. Every cell in all their bodies had been recycled by now, most of them probably twice. It was time to fix this.

He lay there in his bunk, tapping out restless rhythms on the edge of the mattress and dancing with insomnia, and turned the problem around and around in his head. There had to be a way.

He figured it out on the plane back to Los Angeles for a week off. He could’ve punched himself, it was so simple. If he needed Gabe, Gabe would come. Neither of them had ever specified that it had to be needing Gabe for _himself_. He needed Gabe for Mikey. It was still a need.

Pete reached for his bond to Gabe and called out through it. Soundless, wordless, just emotion flying out across the space between them.

When he got off the plane, he had three texts from Gabe and a missed call. The last text said he had just bought a plane ticket and would be landing at LAX at six AM. Pete stared at that while he walked from the gate to the waiting SUV. He’d overdone it just a little. Gabe was going to be so pissed when he got there all exhausted and worried and Pete was actually fine.

Well, he’d make it up to him somehow. Worry about that tomorrow. For now, he needed to get home and hug his kid and his girlfriend and talk at Meg’s belly for a while.

Then he would have to call Mikey and make sure he was going to be at home tomorrow.

**

Mikey was in bed when the knock came at the door. He had been in bed a lot since he got back to LA. After rehab he had stayed with Dave for a week or so, then with his mom, but finally he had to come back here, to the Extended Stay America that was the first place he’d ever actually lived alone, and it was too fucking depressing to do anything but sleep.

Well. This level of depressing would also be good for drinking or doing every substance he could think of, but he kind of wanted to not be a complete failure at this, so. Sleeping and going to meetings and calling Gerard, his mom, and Dave twice a day like clockwork. It was what it was.

Whoever was at the door waited thirty seconds and knocked again. Rude. Mikey sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and counted the steps to the door. “Yeah?”

Gabe was standing in the hallway. “Hi.”

Saying the first thing that came to mind wasn’t always a great plan. “You look like shit.”

Gabe winced and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Well. I flew out here in the middle of the goddamn night.”

“Why?”

“Pete needed me.”

Mikey frowned and leaned against the doorframe. “Is he okay? He just called me yesterday, he seemed fine.”

Gabe’s mouth twisted into a tight curve that couldn’t really be called a smile. “He’s fine. He called you after he let me know he needed me. Because what he needed was for me to talk to you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither did I at first, but he explained it at great length, with a lot of hand gestures, and he’s really lucky that I love him and that I’ve renounced all violence in favor of peace and healing in the universe, because I really wanted to shake him til his teeth rattled.”

Mikey stood there for a minute. “Nothing you just said made any sense. Just so you know.”

“I know.” Gabe sighed. “Can I come in?”

Mikey looked over his shoulder at his depressing-ass hotel room. “Why would you want to?”

“So we can talk.”

“We could go somewhere. A diner.”

“They don’t have diners in LA. Not real ones.”

“A Starbucks.”

Gabe exhaled slowly. “Dude, I understand what you mean and I’m not trying to be a dick here, but given the situation maybe we could have this talk with close access to a bed?”

“You think we’re going to do that? Now?” Mikey shook his head. “After everything, you really think I’m just going to--”

“It’s different now.”

Gabe’s voice was urgent, intense enough that Mikey really looked at him. “What makes it different? Explain it to me.”

Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets. “I got married. In human terms, I got married. In dragon terms, I took a mate.”

Mikey waited, but Gabe just looked at him like that explained it all. “And what does that… mean?”

“I’m not an adolescent anymore. I’m really an adult. I’m… I’m _whole_. Completed.”

Mikey waited again, but Gabe just kept looking at him. “I know Pete understands this stuff as soon as you think it, but I don’t, so you’re either going to have to explain or leave.”

“Right.” Gabe exhaled and reached out his hand. “Look. Just… look?” He settled his hand on Mikey’s arm, skin to skin, and Mikey caught his breath. He could feel the sparks under his skin rising toward Gabe, could feel the fire moving faster and wanting to break free, but it wasn’t unstoppable, like it used to be. And Gabe’s eyes weren’t glowing; he wasn’t shaking or sweating or reaching for Mikey with hunger. He was just touching him, and looking into his eyes.

“Being mated broke the magic?” Mikey stepped back, pushing Gabe’s hand away. “Great. You can resist me now. That’s handy, I guess. I don’t know why you had to come here to rub it in my face, but good for you.”

“That’s not my point, Mikey.”

“I can’t figure out what else you might be trying to say.”

“It’s not mindless now! It’s not a compulsion! I’m here because I _want_ you. I do. Me. My brain. Not just a reflex. Me.”

Mikey forced himself to breathe, in and out, around the pain in his chest. “What if I don’t want you anymore?”

“If you don’t, then you don’t.” Gabe’s voice was low and rough, and god, Mikey _remembered_ that voice, remembered how much he loved to hear it when Gabe was wrapped around him or pinning him down to the bedsheets, when fire was flowing between their skins. “But I think you do.”

“So I should invite you in and take you to bed.”

“Not even for sex, if you don’t want it. We could just… be close to each other. Burn together.”

Mikey snorted. “Right. You’re _not_ here for me, you’re here to perv on my stupid power.”

“No!” Gabe threw his hands in the air. “Why are you being such a dick about this?”

“It’s been a _really long time_! Why now? Why here? Why right after everything--”

“How bad might it have ended up if I came _before_ everything! Think about it!”

That hurt worse, the ache running all the way up and down Mikey’s body, from his heart to his fingertips. “So I’m too much trouble when I’m messed up, but once I’m put back together, you’re here to get a taste. Wow, Gabe. That makes me feel great.”

“God! No.” Gabe stared at him for a moment, shock written across his face and real pain in his eyes. Mikey had wounded him. Not even really on purpose, because none of this was on purpose; it was a terrible unstoppable series of accidents. A train wreck. Like everything else he’d ever done.

“I knew that seeing me was going to mean a fight like this,” Gabe said quietly. “And I didn’t want to make you fight if you weren’t ready. I’m an asshole, Mikey, but I’m not _that_ much of one. I’m a monster, but not _that_ kind.”

“You’re not a monster.” Mikey pressed his forearm over his eyes, blinking tears against skin that felt too hot, melting from inside. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”

“Dragon,” Gabe said. “Monster by definition.” Mikey felt him moving closer, taking cautious steps across the width of the hallway. “Mikey, I--”

Lifting his face, looking at Gabe; if he didn’t have to compare it to every day he didn’t take a drink, Mikey would have thought it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Gabe leaned in and kissed him, warm and slow, and Mikey could _feel_ it, the power flowing back and forth between them, the pieces of themselves that understood each other so well, but only without words. Only with touch, never with anything they could explain.

“Mikey,” Gabe said, just above a whisper. “Let me come in.”

Mikey took a breath, then another. They made him shake, his chest and his hands shaking as hard as his heart was beating. “I’m not ready,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready.”

Gabe took a step back. “You mean that?”

“I really do.” Mikey rubbed his face, fumbling for the doorknob. “Please go away. Please, just--”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence, because Gabe was gone.

**

Interviewer: So you’ve been away for a while. Kind of disappeared. Went off the grid.

GS: No, man, I’ve been right here. I’ve been in New York, I’ve been in LA. I didn’t go anywhere.

Interviewer: But you stopped making music.

GS: Not in my head! But okay, yeah. I stopped making music for sale.

Interviewer: Because you got married…

GS: It wasn’t just wedding, love, marriage, you know? It was all that, but it was also--I was nesting, right? That’s a big thing. It’s a huge thing, for a dragon. It’s entering a new stage of life. Everything changes. There are, like, there are actual physical changes that are kicked off by preparing to nest. Emotional changes, spiritual changes, everything. Things get weighted with meaning. It’s intense.

\-- Kerrang!, “Catching Up With Gabe Saporta,” 2014

**

_2015_

Pete knew Mikey would be expecting him to call, so instead he made dinner reservations and texted Mikey the details. It might keep him from getting quite as worked up and defensive. And if it didn’t, at least Pete would get a good dinner. Sushi, of course. Some traditions demanded respect and attention.

Mikey gave him a sour look when they met at the restaurant. “We can’t argue here, is that it?”

Pete gave him his best look of wide-eyed innocence, and projected it at him for icing on the cake. “I don’t want to argue anywhere. I just want to talk.”

“Stop that.” Mikey waved his hand in the air between them. “Put it away. And there really isn’t anything to talk about, Pete.”

Pete put his shields up after one last push of his determination _not to let this go_ , and after a moment Mikey looked away. Some things were never going to be like they were that summer; _most_ things, really. But being able to talk to each other without everything falling into broken glass and ashes; that was coming back. Pete was glad to have it again.

“He says he’s done with you,” Pete said. “Done with the whole thing. That’s not true, of course.”

“It should be. I’m done with it, too.”

“No, you’re not.” Pete couldn’t feel what Mikey was feeling, not with his shields up like the well-mannered empath he played on TV, but he didn’t need magic to tell when Mikey was lying like a rug. “You’re not ready yet, and that’s cool. But you’re not _done_.”

“You’re always so sure about everything.”

“Empath.” Pete shrugged. “But the two of you aren’t done.”

Mikey rubbed the side of his head and poured from the pot of green tea on the table. “It doesn’t matter. It was all a really long time ago.”

“So what?” Pete didn’t actually want to waste time going down the path of that question. “What was your problem, anyway? Why did it matter that he claimed me? You guys were never exclusive before. Why did it make you freak out so bad?”

Mikey put his cup down, tea splashing over the side. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“You didn’t see the way you two looked at each other.” Mikey’s face twisted, the blank mask he’d spent so many years on trying to fall into place and not quite making it. “I didn’t even exist anymore. I didn’t matter. I thought I mattered to him, I thought I mattered to _you_ , and in that moment I didn’t even…”

“Bullshit.” Pete poured his own tea and shook his head, catching himself before he started projecting again and let Mikey know exactly how much bullshit he thought that was. “You know that, right? Total bullshit.”

“It felt real.” Mikey made a face at him. “And my feelings are valid.”

“Valid but not true.”

Mikey huffed, almost a laugh but more of an audible roll of the eyes. “Let’s not do _that_ right now. Save it for the therapists.”

“At this point we could probably save some money just therapizing each other.”

“Nobody wants that.” Mikey twisted his fingers around the cup. “He rejected me.”

Stating the obvious was a valuable tool, even when he just wanted to _feel_ it at him. “And you rejected him right back. And me. But I’m over it.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Mikey shook his head. “I’m still angry. I’m not ready.”

“You don’t have to be. But you have to be willing to try.”

Mikey huffed again. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do, Wentz.”

“Take me home with you to play video games after dinner.” There was still an edge to this, a falling-off place where they could slide into danger, always, but every time they successfully dodged it and were _friends_ , things got a little easier, and Pete’s heart got a little lighter.

From Mikey’s smile, it worked for him, too. “Yeah, okay.”

** 

Pete knew he had to be patient. Patience was critical for this sort of thing. If he pushed either of them, they would run for the hills just out of sheer stubbornness. He had to wait them out and then outwit them. It was a long game.

He didn’t expect it to take actual, literal years, but Gabe and Mikey were actually _that_ awful. When he felt charitable about it, and when Meagan reminded him, he could admit that they also, legitimately, had life stuff going on. Most of the time, though, he just thought of them as being awful and stubborn and refusing to let things happen the way they all knew they ought to be.

“You can’t tell people what they should do,” Meagan reminded him over and over. “Don’t try to control them. That’s shitty.”

“I’m not controlling,” he always said. “I’m _guiding_.”

She always just rolled her eyes at him, and he loved that about her, that even when he could fool himself he couldn’t fool her, too. No matter how many times she assured him that her power was animal telepathy, he never doubted that she could read his mind. He had an animal side, after all, and he didn’t bury it all that deep.

She usually had Bear hide his favorite sneakers after he brought that theory up. She was also awful and amazing, just like everyone else he loved.

When Mikey had texted him out of the blue, _Met somebody. Think I love her. She gets me_ , Pete was elated and terrified at once. This could be it, the thing that stabilized the last part of the ever-shifting minefield between the three of them. If Mikey had a real love, a solid love, the way Pete and Gabe each did now, then there wouldn’t be the _pressure_ on the triangle made up of the three of them. It could be a flexible triangle, bending with the pressures instead of breaking.

Pete kept his mouth shut and watched for a year, which was an amazing feat of self-control. He wanted to be sure it was a _real thing_ before he went out and tried to build on it.

“And how did you come up with this?” Gabe asked when Pete finally told him his theory. “Did you see it in a dream?”

“I opened myself up to the emotions around me and let them flow through my gills,” Pete said. “My soul gills.”

“Your soul is a fish?”

“It could be.” Pete was quiet for a moment. “I was pretty baked at the time, I guess.”

“I never would’ve guessed.” Gabe laughed a little. “I don’t know, Wentzy. I think that ship has sailed. I’m not going to try again. I don’t need everything spit back in my face all the time.”

“This time could be different.”

“Could be isn’t the same as will be.”

“You’ve gotta trust the universe, man. You’re the one who told me that.”

“Well, I’m an idiot sometimes, Pete.”

It was a reflex to argue with Gabe about this. “Not often. Like, almost never.”

Gabe sighed. “I love you. I don’t want to push on this anymore right now. Erin and I are going to kabbalah in an hour, and I’ve gotta be calm for that, not all bogged down in bad feelings.”

Pete kicked his feet in a slow arc, channeling his power down through the bond to try to touch Gabe’s emotions. “What’s dragon kabbalah like?”

Gabe sighed again, but Pete could feel the warm glow of his pleasure. “We just do regular kabbalah.”

“But you get all tingly in your dragon parts, right?”

“No.”

“Right. Right. _I_ make you all tingly in your dragon parts.”

Gabe glowed even warmer, with the pure, mystic, inhuman love that made Pete’s whole body shiver. “Every day. Just thinking about you.”

Pete closed his eyes and just reveled in it for a moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Talk soon.”

Gabe hung up and Pete held his phone to his chest for a few moments, then pulled up his personal calendar and looked over the upcoming tour and when he’d have a solid break back home. Four months. Yeah. That seemed like a good amount of time to let everything settle into whatever form it was going to take for a while.

Four months and then he would call Gabe to him, and see what he could make happen. There were other ways than magic, or making a logical argument. Straight-up trickery always had a place, as far as Pete was concerned. Everything was fair game if your intentions were pure.

Well. Mostly pure. He was coming from a good place. Close enough.

**

Gabe woke up alone, the sheets gone cool on Pete’s half of the bed. It wasn’t much of a surprise; Pete still didn’t sleep well and would get up and do something instead of lying awake. Gabe had slept a solid eight hours and dragons were deep sleepers once they settled in; Pete could’ve left the bed anywhere in there and he would’ve slept through it.

He knew Pete was gone from the house and a couple of miles away already. And in a pretty good mood, according to their bond. That was nice to wake up to.

He got up and checked the master bedroom; Meagan was up and probably out of the house already, since her purse and phone were gone. Checking the next room confirmed that Saint’s diaper bag wasn’t there, either.

He went down to the kitchen and found a note stuck to the refrigerator. _Hey Gabe, we went out for a while. Make yourself at home. Don’t go anywhere, we’re expecting a delivery. xo PW_

Gabe stared at the note for a moment. Pete’s ability to selectively remember how much Gabe got from the bond was amazing. Gabe _knew_ this was a setup. The only question was what, exactly, the punchline would turn out to be.

He needed coffee to deal with this. And a shower. And then probably to take a book out to the pool, because if he was stuck in the house pending an unknown bizarre occasion, he was going to get some sunbathing out of it. The dragon in him _craved_ it. It was the best part of visiting LA.

He dozed in a deck chair for an hour or so, the heat soaking into his body until it felt like he was glowing, before he heard the doorbell ring. He stumbled sun-drunk through the house to answer it, blinking in the dim light and trying to pull his brain together enough to communicate with a delivery driver.

Mikey was standing on the porch.

Gabe’s whole body, warm and charged on sunlight, moved toward him like a magnet, without thought. The hunger for Mikey and the fire he carried rose up just like before, Gabe’s new control over it too warm and sleepy to kick in right away. He stepped closer, reaching for Mikey before his mind even began to catch up.

Mikey shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Let me guess, Pete isn’t even here?”

Gabe caught himself and stepped back, setting his teeth against the pain of doing so. “He went out this morning. Him and Meagan and Saint.”

“But he left you here, and called and told me to come over.”

Gabe shrugged. “I knew when I saw his note that it was a setup, I just didn’t know how. Apparently this is it.”

“You don’t know? I thought you could read his mind. Isn’t that the whole idea?”

“No.”

Mikey shook his head again and looked over his shoulder. Gabe followed his gaze and saw a car turning out of Pete’s driveway.

“Your girlfriend?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Yeah. She’s going to get her hair cut and dyed and get a pedicure and I think she’s meeting her sister for lunch, so… I guess I’ll take an Uber home and text her when I get there so I don’t wreck her day.”

“Or you could just hang out here til she comes back for you.” Gabe rolled his eyes at Mikey’s look. “I’m not going to bite you, dude.”

“You might. Or jump me. How would I know?”

“You know me better than that.” He meant it as a playful statement, to break the tension, but his voice comes out all wrong and Mikey gives him a startled look. This is all Pete’s fault, Gabe thinks, hoping his bad-mannered treasure can feel his annoyance across the bond. Pete with his pushing for being open with emotions these days. Pete with his need to _fix_ things.

Mikey cleared his throat. “Is there anything to drink? That I can drink, I mean. You know what I mean.”

“There’s tons of stuff.” Gabe stepped back from the doorway. “Help yourself.”

He trailed Mikey to the kitchen and watched him poke through the kitchen and pour himself a glass of Meg’s sun tea. “How are things?” Gabe asked after a moment.

“Good. Pretty good.” Mikey stared at his glass. “I’m a whole new guy.”

“Still look like Mikey to me.”

“New on the inside. New and improved.” He looked up at Gabe for a moment, his eyes angry and vulnerable at once. “Not the guy you knew.”

“He’s still there. Just different now.”

“Don’t tell me who I am.”

“I don’t understand why you want to pretend none of it ever happened. It did happen. We were important to each other, we were good to each other, and I don’t get why you’re so mad. What did I _do_?”

Mikey shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! I never left you. I never even talked about leaving you. It’s not my fault Pete and I are bonded, I didn’t choose that. It just _happened_. It never meant that you and I couldn’t be together, too.”

Mikey laughed, a strained, angry sound that made Gabe’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You really thought I’d be cool being your piece on the side?”

“What are you even talking about?”

 

“I’m not your treasure,” Mikey said, half-spitting the word. “I’m not anything to you. Just pheromones and a compulsion. There’s nothing else there and there never was.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. You fucked me because you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t stop yourself.”

Gabe took a deep breath. “The first time, maybe. But then I could’ve made a choice, right? I could’ve stayed away from you. Ran out of the room every time I saw you walk in. But I didn’t, Mikey. I kept finding you, over and over again. Because I liked you. I fell for you.”

Mikey shook his head, staring at the floor. “I don’t believe you.”

“What can I fucking say that will make you believe me? What else can I say? I’m already telling the truth.”

“How could you _fall_ for me?” Mikey took a step back. “You never really let me in at all. You never let me touch you. You never even let me see you.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“Your real form!” Mikey was shouting now, his eyes still averted, his body shaking. “You never showed me. Never let me touch you. I saw you when I snuck out after you once, and then when you changed for Pete and didn’t care that I stuck around.”

Gabe sucked in a breath and stared at him. Mikey wrapped his arms around himself, half-turning his body away. Prey trying to make itself small. 

Gabe knew that thought was coming from his dragon side, restless and aggressive, singing in his blood. The feeling was familiar and alien at once; he couldn’t remember when he’d felt it before but he _knew_ it, all tied up with the other dragon instincts that moved him whether or not he wanted them.

He did want this one, though. He didn’t understand it, but he wanted to let it move through him and take charge.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Mikey’s jaw tightened, and Gabe hurried to correct himself. “It’s my fault you don’t know, I never explained anything. But you’re wrong, okay?”

“Fine. I’m wrong. Guess I’ll get the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

There was a silence, the word hanging in the air like a challenge, and fuck, he was doing it _again_ , that wasn’t what he meant. He wasn’t explaining this right, either.

“Come with me,” he said, and Mikey looked up, his eyes widening. Gabe realized a beat late that his eyes had changed without his notice; he was seeing all the extra colors, and the flutter of Mikey’s pulse in his throat drew his gaze instantly. Mikey was prey. Not to be eaten, though, just… claimed.

_Oh_.

That was when he’d felt this before; when he was finally going to claim Pete. After all the waiting, the drawn-out suffering, his own stupid stalling for pride, he was going to open the space in his heart and draw in the thing that fit. That was just how he felt now, but there was no magical bond driving it.

There was just what he wanted.

“Come on,” he said, and walked to the double doors that led to the patio, and the yard beyond. The fence was high, dictated by privacy and security but good for what he needed, too. There was room and he wouldn’t be seen.

Mikey hesitated at the edge of the patio while Gabe walked into the grass and tipped his head back to the sky. It was sunny and warm; of course, it was Los Angeles. The air would feel so good on his scales. He could spread his wings and bask in it. It would be perfect.

All he had to do was let go.

He spread his arms wide and shook out the tension, looking at Mikey. “You can touch all you want,” he said. “Open invitation.”

It was like breathing out, and concentrating a little bit on his skin but also a place in his chest a little to the left of his heart. Right near his spine. When he’d learned how to do this, his dad had told him to just concentrate on the center of everything, and that’s where he decided that was.

He pictured that place opening up, turning him inside-out and wrapping him up in itself as it spread out of him like a flower. By the time he breathed in again, he was different, scales and claws, hollow bones, long fangs and wings folded up above his back like clasped hands. He stretched them out, fanned him, let them take in the sun. 

Mikey was staring at him, wide-eyed, hesitant. Gabe bowed his head to him, flicking his tail over the grass, and waited.

**

When Pete got home, he found them still in the yard. Gabe was curled around Mikey protectively, his wings angled to block the sun. Mikey was asleep, his head resting on the grass with his face turned toward Gabe’s belly, forehead pressed against the more delicate scales there.

Pete sat down on the patio and watched them for a while. He knew Gabe was awake; even if he couldn’t feel the warm hum of recognition and fondness through the bond, Gabe’s tail was twitching idly, stirring the dry groundcover. The dry ground, drought-resistant cover instead of a lawn kept alive with sprinklers; dragons got all excited about it. Gabe’s dad had come out to visit once and he loved it, too. They could sit there for hours and not go anywhere near the pool.

Gabe sent a flicker of inquiry at him, and Pete smiled, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He did want to go out to join them, but he also just wanted to watch a while longer, to memorize the sight. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat and watched, but eventually his phone buzzed in his pocket. Meagan, letting him know that she was on her way back with the boys. They were probably an hour out, given the traffic.

He texted back a string of emoji and slipped the phone back in his pocket, then got up and walked over to the two of them on the lawn. “Hey,” he said softly, nudging Mikey’s shoulder with his foot. “Hey, dudes. Time to wake up.”

Mikey groaned softly and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. “I was dreaming.”

“Good dreams?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Mikey fanned his fingers and looked at Pete through them. “Not like that.”

“I would never assume,” Pete said. He rested his hand against Gabe’s shoulder. “Change back now. We’ve gotta talk before Meg and Kristin and the kids get home.”

Gabe rolled his eye toward him with a distinct sense of _Why?_ at the same time Mikey blurted out the word.

“Because if we don’t, everything could get all fucked up again. And I don’t want that.” Pete looked at them both. “Do you?”

“Maybe it just won’t,” Mikey said. “Try optimism.”

“Let’s try cautious realism. Just for a few minutes.”

Gabe grumbled and swept his wings back, tilting his head toward the sky for a moment before the change swept over him. Human, he sank down cross-legged on the grass and stretched his arms out in front of him. “That felt good.”

“What, basking in the sun for hours?” Pete made a face at him. “Not fair how dragons don’t have to worry about skin cancer.”

“Not _just_ basking in the sun,” Gabe said. “Basking with my people. One of my people.”

Mikey took a step back. “But I’m not. Not really. I don’t want to argue about this again.”

“I don’t either.” Gabe stood up, but didn’t move closer, letting Mikey maintain his space. “So I’m just gonna say some stuff, and you decide what to do, okay?”

“Talk if you want to talk.”

“You’re not my person the same way Pete is. We’re not _bonded_ that way. But you’re still my person. Still part of me. I’m nested now, you know? It means something, for dragons. It means a lot of things. One of them is that I collect people, I build my family. Except I was collecting and building all along, now is just when I really _recognize_ it, and how important it is.”

Mikey raised an eyebrow. “I’m family? We did an awful lot of fucking for family.”

“Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean.” Gabe did take a step toward him now, holding out one hand. “You’re my person because I love you. Because you matter to me. We’re family, Way. Fucking family. And the sooner you stop fighting it and let me love you, the easier it’ll be for all of us.”

“Are you actually threatening me into a relationship?” Mikey wasn’t quite smiling, but he wasn’t backing away. “Only you, Saporta.”

“You know it. It’s always only me.”

Mikey’s gaze flickered toward Pete. “What about you?”

Pete shrugged. “I’ve got it easiest here, I think. I love you both. I kind of always have. Nothing changes for me, except if you guys aren’t avoiding each other I can double-dip and have more efficient hangs.”

“I’m flattered.” Mikey closed his eyes. “And Meagan? Kristin? Erin?”

“It all fits together,” Gabe said quietly. “Trust me.”

“I should trust you because you know all about nesting.”

“Pretty much.”

Mikey dropped his hands to his sides. When he looked up, his eyes were full of tears. “I’m so fucking tired of saying no to you.”

Gabe held out his arms, and they both went to him. When they all touched, Pete felt it like a key in a lock. Gabe had been right; they all fit together. He could feel how they fit, in his heart, and he could feel the places where Meagan and Kristin and Erin and his sons would fit. He could feel where Gerard fit into Mikey, and Diego and Ricky into Gabe, and all of his people, branching out from him into the rest of the world. 

This was just _right_.

“You’re the expert on nesting,” he said, pressing his face against Gabe’s chest. “Do we consummate this or what?”

**

Mikey went off by himself while Pete and Gabe went ahead to the bedroom. He pulled his phone out and called Kristen, trying not to shake with his nerves.

“Hey,” he said softly when she picked up. “Um, hey. Sorry to interrupt your day.”

“Any time, babe.” She sounded bright and cheerful, like usual; she sounded full of light. To the rest of the world she was a null; he could never imagine anything less true. “Is it going okay? You’ve been there all day and haven’t called for me to come get you, so I assume it’s going okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I mean, we argued, we had it all out, but…”

“But you got it all out.” She laughs softly, not at him but just happily. He can tell the difference with her. “Good. That’s what I was hoping for. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t be proud of me. I haven’t done anything.”

“You made the effort. You talked it out. And anyway I’ll be proud of you any time I want to.”

“Don’t…” He sighs, closing his eyes tightly. “I think we’re going to, you know. They want to.”

“They want to what?”

Mikey pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a moment, wondering if she’s really going to make him say it or if his silence can speak for him this time.

“Oh,” she says, her voice tinny until he holds the phone properly again. “The magic is doing its thing again?”

“Yeah.” He frowns, digging his fingers into his palm. “Well, no? I mean, we’re all old enough to have control over ourselves now. And with me and Pete it was never magic, just… just… I mean, I won’t do it if you don’t want it.”

“Babe.” Her voice is gentle but amused enough that it would annoy him if it was anyone else but her. “You think Meagan and I haven’t talked about all of this? What did you think we talked about while you and Pete played video games?”

“Um.” He blinks. “I guess I thought you were talking about stuff you both like. I don’t think everyone is talking about me all the time. That would be weird.”

“Well, we were. I mean, mostly we talked about other stuff. It wasn’t all about you. But you and Pete, and you and Pete and Gabe… she told me a lot of stuff that made sense. And I know neither of them will ever take you from me.”

“How do you know that?”

“I trust you, doofus.” She laughs again. “You haven’t figured that out by now?”

“I don’t understand anything,” he says as honestly as he can. “Like, literally nothing on earth, right now.”

“That’s okay. You can catch up later.”

“I love you.” He tries to put his whole heart into the words, wishing he had Pete’s projecting empathy so he could make her feel it. She always said she didn’t need that anyway. Maybe he should trust that she’s right.

“I love you too,” she said. “Go play with your guys.”

He hung up and ran his thumb over the phone for a moment, then dropped it on the couch and walked down the hall to the bedroom. Pete and Gabe were waiting, sitting next to each other on the bed. It was so odd to see, posed and frozen and both of them looking anxious, like they were waiting for a flight instead of a lover, that Mikey had to laugh.

“Am I that scary?”

Pete was the first to recover from being startled. “You’re the Human Torch,” he said, grinning slowly. “We’ve gotta respect your skills.”

“Not a skill. Just a gift.” Mikey hesitated, meeting Gabe’s eyes, suddenly needing one more signal. Just one.

Even without a bond between them, Gabe seemed to know that. He held out his hands, and Mikey came to him.

Mikey tried not to burn, but he couldn’t help it; Gabe touching him, kissing him, tasting his skin, demanded it. Pete pulled back and watched while Mikey and Gabe danced with the fire, passing it back and forth over their skins. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Pete said, and he sounded so breathless and awed that Mikey burned a little brighter and Gabe’s eyes glowed gold. 

Mikey got off just from the way it felt to touch Gabe again, to share fire and breath with him, and after that he could pull the energy back inside himself. He was back in control. 

He watched Gabe draw Pete into the bed, hold him down and kiss him, and then glance up with expectant eyes.

“What?” Mikey asked.

“Come on,” Gabe said. “Together.”

Mikey took a breath and went to him, and it felt like coming home.

**

I got a lotta love for magic boys and superhero girls.

\- Pete Wentz, Twitter, 2015


End file.
